


Prisoner

by marcat



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Henry Cavill - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Drama, England (Country), Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Knights - Freeform, Middle Ages, Original Character(s), Originally Posted on Tumblr, Princess - Freeform, Romance, War, baron - Freeform, elements of BDSM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:26:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcat/pseuds/marcat
Summary: JANUARY, 1067 - NORMAN CONQUEST OF ENGLANDHenry Cavill is a respected Norman baron who has been tasked with finding Thomasin, an ill-tempered Saxon noblewoman, and returning her to London so the king can marry her to one of his friends. Henry and Thomasin grow closer, and Henry is compelled to protect Thomasin - with his life.
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in love with Henry since I first saw him on the Tudors (which I was definitely too young to watch) and I'm in a medieval romance phase, so why not put the two together?  
> Probably fraught with typos, sorry!

Gentle flakes of snow had begun falling from the night sky, the peacefulness and beauty of it standing in sharp contrast to the situation. 

The Saxon Lady Thomasin Latymer was nowhere to be seen. Indeed, the entire fortress was practically empty when Norman Baron Cavill and two of his brothers came to capture both the castle and the lady for their king. Lady Thomasin was more important than the castle, but it seemed one couldn’t be taken without the other.

The new Norman king’s intention was to wed Thomasin to one of his barons in the hopes that it would bring her wild brother to heel. Hammond Latymer had fled north with the other Saxon rebels after the Norman invaders rolled over their lands. Baron Latymer, Hammond and Thomasin’s father, had somehow managed to keep his holding; he remained behind to protect his fortress and his people and dispatched his son to do the work of war.

Baron Latymer might never have lost his holding, or his daughter, were it not for the baron’s sudden illness and subsequent death. The king had dispatched the Cavill brothers to take advantage of this sudden vulnerability between Latymer’s death and his son’s likely return to his family’s estate.

The Cavills arrived in the dead of night, hoping to surprise what few soldiers protected the keep; the late baron was strong and clever enough to defend his supposedly impenetrable fortress without much help, and so allowed his son to take their best fighting men to regroup with the Saxon rebels.

In less than an hour, the Cavill soldiers had both conquered the fortress and confirmed that not a single soul was in residence. Soldiers were scouring the castle again for Thomasin and her people, but it was painfully clear that the place was empty, save for livestock and a handful of Saxon soldiers.

The seventeen Latymer soldiers that survived the small battle were lined up beside the stone wall. None of them would say a single word to their new captors – not to explain where Thomasin or the others were, not to ask for food or water, not even to curse the invaders. 

Rather than fortifying the castle for a siege or hiding in the nearby forest until the opportune moment to strike, the soldiers met Henry and his brothers at the gates to the keep and fought them there. The Latymers lost four men; the Cavills lost none.

Now the Cavill brothers stood in the abandoned courtyard plotting their next move. Henry and Simon had removed their armor and stood in their clothes; Charlie had kept his on, for he was the greenest of the brothers and had seen precious little battle. Besides, capturing the castle had been far too easy, and he was certain that some sort of plot was afoot.

“There’s a convent relatively nearby,” Charlie, the youngest brother said. “Perhaps they’ve taken refuge there.”

“What, the whole village?” Simon scoffed.

“It’s possible,” his brother retorted. “It’s a small village. I’d wager that at least the women and children have fled there.” 

“It doesn’t matter where they are,” Henry finally said, thick arms crossed over his broad chest. “We only need Lady Thomasin. I’ll bring Kal up to her chambers to catch her scent; perhaps he could track her.” It was unlikely, but it was the best plan any of them had.

The state of Thomasin’s chamber suggested that the Cavills had, in fact, caught her by surprise. There was a wooden tub in front of the hearth, the water now as cold as the air outside. The chest at the foot of her bed was thrown open wide. A number of gowns had been tossed aside in the lady’s search for some specific article of clothing to take with her. jars of oils and salts for her bath were still open on her bedside table.

Henry peeled back the covers on the bed and picked up the pillow. It had a subtle scent to it, something fresh and clean which he hoped was Thomasin’s. “Kal.” Henry held the pillow out toward his hound, a massive thing that looked less like a dog than a bear. He sniffed the pillow for a long moment before turning his attention to the chest of clothes, then to the floor. He’d picked up some invisible trail that Henry and the two knights that had accompanied him could not see. 

They silently followed the dog through the castle and back out into the bailey. Henry’s brothers threw him looks but said nothing as the dog traced a path across the courtyard’s damp stones. Toward the chapel. The Latymer soldiers remained impassive.

“I thought the men checked the chapel,” Charlie said, following behind his brother.

“Perhaps not well enough,” Henry muttered. He and the others crossed themselves as they passed through the doorway into the darkened hall. Kal raced up the aisle toward the altar and started barking furiously. “Spread out. Search every inch of this place. Check the damn tabernacle if you must.”

Kal didn’t aid them in their search of the place. He remained in front of the altar, growling softly to draw his master’s attention. “Kal, enough,” Henry said. But the dog ignored him. Henry growled in frustration and marched over to the altar. He threw back the floor-length white cloth that covered it to show Kal. “See? There’s nothing there!”

Kal barked his disagreement.

Henry rolled his eyes. He went to fix the tablecloth when he noticed a deep seam in the floorboards beneath the table. Several seams. They formed a square. A hidden door. “Hey!” Henry called.

The others hurried over and moved the altar out of the way to get a better look at the hatch. It was small, only big enough for a single person to fit through, and not a very large person, at that; Henry wouldn’t be able to get in past his hips - he was an exceptionally large man, though.

The brothers crouched around the hatch. If Thomasin was inside, she certainly knew they were there and that she was about to be discovered. Still, they tried to keep quiet as they got into place. They tore the hatch open. Kal barked triumphantly. 

The chamber below the hatch was pitch black, save for the small square of light that the open door let in. It was impossible to tell how large the chamber was without sending someone in with a torch.

“Lady Thomasin,” Simon called into the darkness. “I am Baron Simon Cavill. King William has sent my brothers and I to fetch you and take you back to London, where you –” 

“Yes, I’m quite aware what will happen to me in London,” a female voice replied, tight with the effort of holding back her anger. Thomasin appeared beneath the door, arms crossed over her chest. The only feature Henry could see clearly was her red hair. “I can’t climb out by myself. Would one of you be good enough to assist me?”

“Here, take my hands.” Henry bent over the hatch and grabbed onto her outstretched hands, delicately lifting her out of the hole and setting her down on the floor beside him. “My lady.” He bowed his head in greeting without taking his eyes off of her face. 

Henry had been told that Thomasin was as beautiful as she was difficult. Looking at her delicate features in the warm, dim light, Henry decided she must be very difficult indeed. Her face was set in a scowl, her glare as sharp as daggers, but it did nothing to diminish her beauty. Her fiery hair hung loose around her shoulders, still damp and tangled from her interrupted bath; she didn’t even have the time to braid it back. Her eyes, a common color of greyish blue, were made remarkable by the passion they held. 

If looks could kill, Henry and his men would all be dead.

Kal’s triumphant bark broke Thomasin’s concentration. A look of horror crossed her face - Was that a bear? How did a bear get into the chapel? What on earth were these Norman dimwits doing with it - Thomasin’s first instinct was to kick the beast in its snout, but her muscles refused to move. She was frozen with fright

“Hush, Kal,” Henry said gently. “You needn’t worry. He’s not a bear,” Henry said, gaining his feet. “Only a large dog.” He held his hands out again and lifted Thomasin to her feet. She wore only a thick wool dress and a pair of men’s boot. They’d done nothing to block out the cold: not only was she shivering (despite her best efforts to stay still), her nipples, hardened from the chill, pushed against her dress to the point that all men could see the rounded buds that crowned her pert breasts.

Simon practically embraced her, pulling her against his chest to protect her modesty until he could place his leather vest around her shoulders. Henry knew what he was doing, of course – Simon would ordinarily never touch a woman in such away unless she were family – but it annoyed him all the same. Perhaps because King William had tasked Henry specifically with the task of retrieving Thomasin; Simon was ordered to hold the fortress. Charlie was to aid his brothers in their duties.

“Jamie! Look in the chamber,” Simon ordered, stepping away from Thomasin. Henry caught a glimpse of her expression, how frightened and tired she was, before she put her scowl back in place.

Jamie, one of the squires, carefully lowered himself into the hatch. Someone handed him a torch. “What do you see?” Charlie asked. “Is there anyone else down there?”

Thomasin became aware of Henry’s eyes on her and looked right back at him, determined to hold her ground despite her situation. Henry fought off a smile.

“There’s a door!” Jamie called up. “I think it leads to a corridor, but I can’t see far enough.”

“Tunnels,” Simon guessed. He called to Thomasin. “Where do they come up?”

Thomasin didn’t respond. It appeared that she was too stubborn to speak when in reality, she was overwhelmed by the dark-haired Norman staring at her.

He had a jaw like an anvil, features sharp and hard as stone. His eyes were a shade of blue Thomasin had never seen – so vivid and rich as to be called violet. His hair was relatively short but it had a slight curl to it. It looked terribly soft; the whiskers dusted over his cheeks, jaw, and neck looked rough in the most wonderful way.

He was taller than anyone in her family was; she wagered he was taller than most people anywhere. His hulking frame was knotted with muscle. Yes, looking at him, he did appear to be the sort of man who kept a bear for his pet.

“Why didn’t you run with your people?” Henry asked.

She couldn’t very well ignore _that_ question. But what could she say? Was she to admit that she was too frightened to do anything but stand there in the darkness praying the Pater Noster over and over?

“Clearly, I’m not dressed for the weather,” Thomasin said, turning the subject. “Would you at least allow me to pack my things before we leave for London?”

Henry stayed a few paces behind her as they walked across the courtyard and back into the castle. Some of the soldiers looked furious to see their mistress, wet and cold, being stalked by a foreign barbarian in the middle of the night. Henry was pleased they were reacting to something.

Thomasin did not even glance at her father’s men. She’d given them strict instructions to set the fortress aflame once she and the other women and children were safely in the tunnels. They had only to follow the tunnels to the exit, a door only slightly larger than the entrance hidden among great rocks. From there, they could walk to the convent in less than a day.

But the men did not do as she asked. Bloody bastards. Had their late lord not told them he would rather see his ancestral home burned to the ground than in the hands of a Norman?

They were cowards to give in so easily. No, worse than cowards – they were opportunists. Certainly planned to pledge their loyalty to the new Norman king and whatever baron he’d give the holding to. At least they were loyal enough not to give up the tunnels. And it was Thomasin’s fault for not fleeing with the others, anyway. It was stupid. Did she plan to stay trapped the chamber while her home burned?

No. She was as much a coward as her men, for she was too afraid to leave her home.

“Are you Simon?” she asked over her shoulder as she and Henry climbed the stairs to her chamber.

“Henry,” he said. “Simon’s my older brother. Charlie’s the younger one.” He’d admit it was odd to give her all three of their names, but it was better than letter her call all three of them Cavill. Thank God their two older brothers had stayed in Normandy with their families. Otherwise there would be five Cavills to be mistaken for one another.

Thomasin turned to shut the door to her chamber when she entered it, but Henry held it open with one large palm. “You can’t be in there with the door closed,” he explain. “You might try to go through one of the windows.”

“Shall I undress with my door open, then? Let your guards watch me?” She nodded to the two soldiers who stood behind Henry in the corridor. 

Henry made a clicking noise and his dog entered the chamber. He followed, shutting the door behind him. Thomasin’s composure cracked. She was a gift for someone, wasn’t she? Surely this man wouldn’t touch a woman whom his king intended to give as a gift. A flash of excitement mixed in with her fear, making her core throb; part of her liked the idea of this handsome knight having his way with her.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Henry said, smirking. “I’ll stand by the windows to keep you from climbing out. Or of course, I could have my men come in, if that would make you more comfortable.” 

Henry may be a Norman, but he was at least a gentleman. He stared out the window the entire time Thomasin changed out of her gown. He didn’t turn around even once, though the temptation was certainly there. He tried not to picture it – the last thing anyone needed was for him to get hard now – but the image kept creeping in, especially after seeing her nipples in the church. He tried to look straight out the windows, not at the shadows the dying fire cast on the walls - shadows of _her_.

He imagined how her long orange hair would feel between his fingers. How soft she’d be in his arms. The feel of her fast, heavy breath against his bare skin …

“I’m ready now.”

 _Thank God_.

Thomasin had braided back her waist-length hair and changed into a simple, sturdy gown made for traveling.

The others were ready to leave when they came down to the courtyard. Simon would keep half of the men to hold the fortress until William decided what to do with it; Charlie and the remaining soldiers would go south to London with Henry.

“You’ll be riding with me,” Henry explained before lifting her onto the back of his stallion. “It’ll be warmer and more comfortable.”

“And it will be harder for me to run away,” Thomasin finished. 

Henry cracked the slightest smile. “Yes, my lady.” He put his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the horse before climbing up behind her. He had a difficult time settling her in his lap without picturing her naked again. “Though I think you’re too smart to attempt that.”

“I’m a captive now,” she replied. “It’s my duty to attempt escape at least once. Otherwise I might as well be your guest.”

“My captive, my guest,” Henry said with a shrug. He put his arms around her to grip the reins. “It’s a matter of perspective.” And either way, she was his.

Thomasin was silent as the three brothers bid each other farewell, and she did not look back at her home as they rode away from it, though it was likely she would never see the place again. 

She leaned back against Henry’s broad chest and settled in. 


	2. Chapter 2

“If you can’t stay quiet, I’ll have to stop you,” Henry said with a wicked grin. “We don’t want the whole camp to hear you whimpering for me, do we?”

“I’ll be quiet!” Thomasin whined. “Please don’t make me stop.”

Henry leaned back. “Go on, then.”

Thomasin sighed with relief and bucked her hips forward, grinding her center against the knight’s firm, thick thigh. 

She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten into the Norman’s tent, let alone how she wound up straddling him, skirts hiked up over her hips to allow for freer movement. 

She hastened her movements, desperately seeking more friction as warmth coiled in her lower belly.

“There’s a good girl,” Henry cooed. His smile was still teasing, but there was tenderness in it too. “My good girl. Thomasin.” She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She concentrated on her movements, on Henry saying her name over and over, his voice growing louder with each iteration. “Thomasin. Thomasin.”

“ _Thomasin_!”

She woke with a start, gasping for air after her climax was ripped away mere moments before it happened. She was so shocked that she might’ve fallen from the horse if Henry wasn’t holding onto her. He was far too close for comfort, especially after that dream. The dream! Thomasin was convinced he knew about it. Why else would he wake her? 

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Henry said. He kept his pale sapphire eyes straight ahead rather than glancing down at the young lady in his lap. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” Thomasin snapped defensively. She took a deep breath to calm herself. It was far too early to quarrel by her reckoning, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. “Why do you ask?”

Henry shrugged one shoulder. “You were restless, to say the least.”

 _Oh, God._ “How so?”

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in thought. “You were making an awful lot of noise.”

What on earth did that mean? Was she whimpering or moaning like a whore? Did she call out Henry’s name? Or was she snoring and snorting like an old man as her sisters had often accused her? That would be embarrassing, too, but she’d much rather be caught snoring than crying for a man to touch her.

“You should get used to it,” she said. “I quite enjoy the sound of my own voice, and I intend to make rather a lot of noise with it.” The end of her threat was lost in a yawn.

Henry chuckled quietly; Thomasin felt his chest bounce with laughter. She flushed with anger, grinding her teeth. She usually had such an easy time driving people off. She meant to infuriate the Norman, not amuse him. He knew this of course, and it only pleased him more.

He was pleased, too, that she seemed to have recovered from whatever dream was plaguing her. He could swear that she was weeping in her sleep, twitching and thrashing to fight off her imaginary attacker. He’d tried to soothe her as best as he could without acting inappropriately. He’d tightened his hold on her waist and tucked her up against him. At one point, he even hushed her and told her there was nothing to fear. He spoke quietly so the other soldiers wouldn’t hear him – perhaps too low for her to hear. She’d fallen asleep just before dawn and snored awfully until she started thrashing a few minutes ago. 

The snoring was loud enough for most of the men to hear. Henry had a hell of a time trying to bite back his laughter so he wouldn’t wake her. 

He woke her when it was clear that she couldn’t be soothed because he couldn’t stand to hear her cry. Henry hated weeping women, partly because they were a bloody nuisance, but also because he simply didn’t like it to see women cry, especially beautiful ones. 

It never occurred to Henry that Thomasin might dream of lovemaking. She was too pure for it. He could tell she was far more innocent than she let on. Thomasin presented herself as confident and worldly, but she had never spent a night outside of her castle’s walls, nor had she ever touched a man save for a kiss on the hand. That was all in the past now. She’d never see her home again, and the Cavill brothers, it seemed, had no qualms lifting or embracing her like a puppy. 

“It is only you and your two brothers, or do you have sisters as well?” Thomasin asked.

“I’m the fourth of five brothers. We have no sisters.”

“Five?!” She managed to turn enough in her seat to look him in the eye. “Your parents had five boys?!”

“Yes.”

She frowned and turned back around. “You’re jesting with me.”

“I’m not,” Henry promised. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Charlie!” he called over his shoulder. His brother urged his mount forward so he could ride beside Henry. “Lady Thomasin doesn’t trust my word.”

“Oh?”

“She doesn’t believe me that we’ve two more brothers back in Normandy.”

“It’s true,” Charlie said. “Piers and Nik.”

“Good Lord.” 

Every nobleman in Normandy near Lady Cavill’s age must be kicking himself for not marrying her when he had the chance. What woman could be so beloved to God that He blessed her and her husband with so many boys, and didn’t burden them with any daughters?

“I can hardly tolerate one brother,” Thomasin said. “I can’t think of a worse hell than growing up with four Hammonds.” Not that she liked her two sisters much better.

The eldest, Stephanie, was Thomasin’s favorite. She had long since left the house to get married, but she was widowed after only a few months and chose to take the veil rather than letting her father marry her off again.

Perhaps Thomasin should’ve become a nun. It certainly sounded better than being handed off to the eldest son of her father’s cousin, a grand idiot with a sword who’d probably fall asleep on top of her. But living in a convent meant a great amount of being quiet and sitting still, and that was simply out of the question.

“Why did your king send _you_?” Thomasin asked after a moment.

Henry smirked. “Am I not a good enough captor for you?”

She ignored his jab. “Why you, though? We were sure King William was sending his _great terror_ for us.” It’s why all the women and children had fled the Latymer keep.

Henry wasn’t surprised that Thomasin had heard of Baron Lawrence. He was a fearsome enemy in battle and a devoted subject of his king – and about as kind as Lucifer himself. He gained infamy throughout England soon after the initial Norman invasion by making an example of a Saxon baron who refused to yield. He killed the baron, of course, and executed the baron’s sons when they refused to submit to the new king. That’s not what he was known for, though; that was simply the way of things when a noble family resisted.

He gained his reputation by beheading the baron’s wife and daughters, along with the servants who attempted to protect them. It was rumored that he allowed some of his soldiers to have their way with peasant and servant girls, and that some soldiers made the women’s husbands or fathers watch. 

Such a thing would be considered a war crime punishable by death if King William hadn’t pardoned him for it.

“The king didn’t think you would appreciate that,” Henry said slowly. “He thought you might be more inclined to cooperate with _us_.” The Cavills were gentlemanly, pleasant, and even-tempered, which made them ideal candidates to deal with the Saxon shrew.

“My lord!” one of the scouts riding at the front of the convoy pulled up just in front of Henry. “One of the lads found a place to camp for the night.”

“How far is it?” asked Henry.

“Quarter of an hour, I’d say. Maybe a half,” the scout replied.

Henry looked up at the sky. It was only the middle of the afternoon, but they’d been riding since before dawn without a single break. “Fine.”

“Thank God,” Charlie said. “It’s damn cold and I’m bloody fucking tired from all this riding.”

“ _Charlie_!” Henry snapped. How dare he use such foul language in front of a lady!

Thomasin wasn’t bothered in the least. “I’m afraid England is always cold. If you wanted good weather, perhaps your Duke William should’ve invaded a different country.”

“It’s King William now,” Henry corrected. Thomasin made a noise of discontent. 

The spent the next twenty minutes in silence until they reached a clearing deep among the trees. Thomasin found a large rock to sit on while she waited for the men to set up camp. 

There were about a hundred men in Henry’s infantry. They split into groups of seven or eight to work building fires or tending the horses. A handful were erecting a tent with branches and fur pelts. Henry stood nearby, frowning fiercely with his arms crossed over his chest again. His tunic was loose, but holding his arms like that, flexing his muscles, made them fill out the sleeves so they were pulled tight across his muscles. 

Charlie stood next to his brother, talking quickly and animatedly about something Henry clearly wasn’t happy about. Good. Let him be miserable.

The bear-dog sat at his master’s feet, wagging his heavy tail and looking back and forth between the brothers as they spoke. He had the size and strength of a hunting or fighting dog but the demeanor of a lapdog. He soon grew tired with the Cavills’ conversation and padded over to Thomasin. He sat down and looked at her expectantly. 

“I haven’t got anything for you to eat,” Thomasin said. The dog was unaffected. He opened his mouth, let his enormous pink tongue hang out between his teeth, and started breathing very heavily. “Go away, bear. I haven’t got anything for you,” she said again. The bear chose to lay down. “For heaven’s sake. “You must behave far more ferociously for people to respect you.”

The dog followed Thomasin around for the rest of the day, which she didn’t mind at all. She rather liked the thing. It seemed to please Henry, too; he could concentrate on his work without worrying about the girl. Kal would look after her. He could even do things that Henry and his men could not, most notably accompanying Thomasin into the woods so she could attend to personal matters.

Thomasin didn’t know this part of the country – she didn’t know anything beyond her father’s lands – but it seemed hospitable enough. She found a brook with cool, clear water and took the time to splash water on her face.

“Do you have a name, I wonder?” she asked Kal. “Or does your master simply call you Bear?” The dog wagged his tail in reply. Thomasin frowned at him. “Where does this brook go, do you suppose?” she asked after a moment. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, though. As long as it’s away from here.” She spent the walk back to camp plotting the route she would take through the trees when she made her escape, which she should probably do sooner rather than later.

Supper was ready when Thomasin finally returned: The men ate loaves of thick, unpleasant bread and dried strips of beef as they sat in small groups around the six fires they’d set up. Henry had something roasting over his fire.

“Do you like hare?” he asked Thomasin as she came over.

“Yes.” She sat down across from him. “Why did you go to all the trouble of catching it? I’m sure the food you brought with you would be plenty enough for me.”

Henry sighed. “In truth, dear lady, I worried you would complain over the quality of it. The bread has the consistency of tree bark, anyway.”

Henry cut up the rabbit when it was finished cooking. He gave one portion to himself, one to Thomasin, one to Charlie, and offered another to his dog in exchanged for performing a series of tricks. 

“Your bear has the temperament of a housecat,” Thomasin remarked. “I’ve never seen a fighting dog that acted like he does.”

“He’s not a fighting dog,” Henry said. “He’s a companion.” He was looking at her braid rather than her eyes. It seemed a small miracle that it could be so long and yet untangled. But he was more interested in the color of it. Thomasin’s hair was a pale strawberry shade in the sun, but it became a deep, rich copper as the sky grew dark. Henry couldn’t decide which shade he liked better. Either way, she had the trademark passionate nature redheads were known for; unfortunately, her passion exerted itself in the form of aggression.

He wondered if her siblings had the same hair. 

“I believe I’ll go to bed now,” Thomasin announced, rising to her feet. “Sleep well, gentlemen.” 

The tent was short but fairly wide. That surprised Thomasin. Why wouldn’t they make several small ones rather than one large one? Didn’t Henry and Charlie expect shelter?

She got her answer a few moments later. 

Thomasin was just settling in for bed when the tent flap opened. Kal came through first. Henry had to crouch to get inside. He didn’t speak. He simply laid down on the other side of the tent and shut his eyes. 

Thomasin lay in silence for a few moments, waiting for him to explain himself. He didn’t. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep,” Henry replied without opening his eyes.

“ _In my tent_?”

“This tent is in fact mine. I’m allowing you to share it as a courtesy.” He was tempted to open his eyes to see the expression on Thomasin’s face. He smirked at the very thought.

Thomasin wasn’t a killer, but she was quite sure she could cut off one of Henry’s fingers and feel no remorse. The man was a savage – an immature one at that. She may be his prisoner but she was _not_ his whore or pet or plaything. But the only dagger in the tent was attached to Henry’s belt. Fine. She could wait until tomorrow to teach him his lesson. Most likely by shoving him off of his horse.

“You are positively indecent. I don’t know what you expect from me, but I assure you it will not happen. I’ll break your nose before I let you touch me. Aye, I will.”

“I have no doubt,” Henry said through a yawn. “Now go to sleep.”

“Do you know what?” Thomasin’s voice was deceptively mild.

Henry sighed. “No, what?”

“I believe your foul-mouthed little brother is more of a gentleman than you, and he is hardly a gentleman at all. Does your poor wife back in Normandy know she’s married a whore of a man with the courtesy of a donkey?”

“I have no wife.”

“Your intended, then.”

There was a pause. Henry opened his eyes and looked up at the roof of the tent. “I have no intended.” He did once, a beautiful young woman he showered with gifts and affection until she quite abruptly broke the agreement by marrying another. 

Thomasin bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She was pleased that he was unattached, but she couldn’t say why. What did it matter? “I’m not surprised,” she said. “Perhaps I shall ask my intended to castrate you once we’ve reached London”

Henry did smile at that. “Which intended? The unknown Norman baron William plans to saddle you with, or the Saxon coward that fled the moment our ships came ashore?”

“You know about Cerdic?” Her voice was more curious than accusatory. 

“Simon insisted we learn everything about you in case your brother or intended or some distant relation came to fetch you before we got to you.” Henry shut his eyes again. “It seems we had nothing to be worried about.”

There wasn’t much to say to that. Thomasin thought Cerdic was a horse’s ass and had once told him so. They didn’t like one another in the slightest, and it was no great loss for their engagement to be broken.

“Tell your bear to come to me,” Thomasin said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m cold and he’ll help keep me warm.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come to him. He stays by my side at all times. Or I suppose the two of us could come to you.”

The two of us! Well at least if he came close enough, she could grab the dagger at his hip more easily. Maybe she could stab him with it. Bastard.

“I’ll allow it.”

She lay on her side, facing away from them. The bear-dog fell to the floor with a great thump rather than taking the time to lie down gently. Thomasin scooched until her back was right against his. Henry lay down on the dog’s other side, his side pressed against the dog’s as closely as Thomasin was pressed to its back. 

“You shouldn’t be sleeping so close to me,” Thomasin chided.

“I was in your room with you when you changed your clothes and you’ve been sitting in my lap all day. I think we’re past the point of worrying about closeness, don’t you?”

“If you toss about in your sleep and get too close to me, I promise I’ll smack you.”

“Luckily for you, I’m a very deep sleeper. You’re the one that snores and kicks.”

“Goodnight, Henry,” she said pointedly.

“Goodnight, Thomasin.”

“Do be quiet, Henry. I’m trying to sleep.”

Henry chuckled; the sound warmed Thomasin’s heart. But it didn’t change anything. She wasn’t going to throw him off of the horse tomorrow; she wouldn’t be able to because she wouldn’t be there. She was going to escape. Tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Henry enjoyed a deep, dreamless sleep. He didn’t roll over or adjust his arms while he was unconscious; he was as still as a statue. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, he could easily be mistaken for dead.

Charlie knew better.

“Henry. For suck’s sake, Henry, wake up!”

Henry was in the foggy confusion of a man who’s just woken from a deep sleep; he couldn’t quite remember where he was yet. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes open to see his brother standing over him. “Charlie,” he said in greeting. He sniffed and rolled over. “Fuck off.”

“Damn it all!” Charlie kicked his brother soundly in the rear.

Henry’s eyes shot open and fixed themselves in a glare as murderous as Thomasin’s; he pushed himself up on his elbows. “What in God’s name is the matter with you?”

“Thomasin’s escaped.”

“What?!”

“The men on guard saw her leaving,” Charlie explained as Henry stomped through the camp, securing his sword-belt to his waist. “She said she was attending to personal matters. Kal went with her. There was no reason to be suspicious.”

“Who was on guard?”

“Crispin and Jamie were the ones who saw her leaving.” Charlie motioned the squires forward. The poor boys had gone white, more with embarrassment for their mistake than fear of their lord’s wrath.

“How long was she gone before anyone thought to do anything?” Henry snapped.

Crispin and Jamie slid each other looks. “Almost two hours, my lord,” Jamie muttered, eyes on the ground.

“Two hours?! No one thought to look for her for _two hours_?!” Henry roared.

“She was attending to personal matters,” Crispin objected.

“And you think it takes a lady _two hours_ to attend those matters?”

Jamie and Crispin glanced at each other again. “Sir, I don’t know . . . how long . . . these things take . . . for women.” Jamie cleared his throat several times as he spoke.

“Surely, you have encountered other women in your life!” Henry said. He pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off his growing headache. “Was she alone?”

“Well, she had your bear was with her, sir, so we knew she was safe,” said Crispin. “And –”

“And?” Henry prompted.

“We thought my lady Thomasin wouldn’t take kindly to being interrupted if she were still _attending_ to things.”

Jamie nodded emphatically.

Henry sighed heavily. It wasn’t their fault. They were no older than fifteen, and they were only trying to be gentlemanly by giving the lady her space. “I don’t blame you.” He caught sight of one of his men feeding Kal and some of the other dogs. The bearlike beast stood out among the other sleek hounds that traveled with the Cavill soldiers. “When did the dog come back?” Henry asked, nodded towards the animal.

“Two or three hours ago,” Jamie said.

“It’s not a good sign,” Charlie said, sighing.

“No,” Henry said. “It’s not.”

*

Thomasin had made it only four miles as the crow flies from the camp. She would’ve gotten farther, but she was careful to take a serpentine route through the trees in case they sent the dogs to track her. She would’ve also gotten farther if she hadn’t tripped over gnarled tree roots in the darkness multiple times and inevitably twisted her ankle.

She bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from crying out. No one was there to hear her, of course, but it was her natural reaction to hide any sign of weakness.

Thomasin stayed on the ground for nearly an hour, wallowing in self-pity even after the pain in her ankle had passed. She thought of carrying on her journey, but what would be the point? Where would she go? She’d never get far enough north to join up with her brother, and Henry and the others were probably expecting her to flee south toward Stephanie’s convent once they were closer.

So why try? She’d end up in London one way or another, and then in the hands of some Norman sycophant King William had chosen.

Besides, Henry was certainly a far better captor than any other Norman they might send after her. But the captor didn’t matter nearly as much as the husband. She’d much rather be a savage’s prisoner than his wife – prisoners, at least, have hope for escape or even relief. Wives are chained to their husbands forever.

So she picked a spot to sit and wait after sending Kal off to fetch his master.

*

“She’s stolen my dagger,” Henry managed through gritted teeth.

Perhaps the fact that Thomasin was armed should’ve given Henry some solace, but he couldn’t stop picturing all the ways she could hurt herself with it. He was convinced she’d manage to somehow stab herself. And then of course, in her pride, refuse to tend the wound. It was almost comical how clear the image was in his mind: Thomasin trekking through the forest with a knife lodged in her side, muttering under her breath the terrible vengeance she would exact upon Henry and his men for daring to inconvenience her in such a way.

She was a damn nuisance, this woman. She may very well die in this attempt just to spite him.

Henry and half his men were in pursuit of the Saxon woman they were charged with. They’d started off in the direction Kal came from and fanned out as the woods became denser. Kal was a good tracker, but Henry wagered Thomasin was smart enough to leave multiple trails and scent markers to confuse him.

If he weren’t a gentleman, he would’ve cursed her in his head for being a selfish bloody bitch.

Honestly, he was angry with himself. How stupid could he be? Not only had he brought a weapon into the tent with her where she could steal it, he’d slept through the whole damn thing!

Henry knew he was close when he saw smudges in the mud, and knew he was even closer when he found a thread from her gown snagged on a tree branch. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before shouting. “Thomasin!” he bellowed. He rubbed the center of his forehead where a ball of tension had formed behind his eyes. “Thomasin!” Kal came bounding past and darted between the trees. Henry had no choice but to follow, shouting for Thomasin all the while.

“There’s no need for you to raise your voice to me,” he heard her snap. He rounded a dense thicket of trees and saw Lady Thomasin perched on a large rock. Her braid had come loose; the hem of her gown was caked in mud, as were her fingernails; her face was pale; and her eyes were red from exhaustion and, perhaps, crying as well. She was far less striking like this but beautiful, nonetheless. She looked so vulnerable – part of Henry wanted to scoop her up and carry her back to camp, sit her down in front of the fire, and stay beside her until she was warm again.

The other part of him wanted to strangle her.

Henry stood with his hands on his hips, nostrils flared in annoyance. He hadn’t shaved since before coming to get her, and his stubble was on the verge of becoming a full-fledged beard. He looked terribly handsome. Rugged. The anger somehow intensified the blue of his eyes.

“I did warn you that I would try to escape,” Thomasin said pointedly. “It’s your own fault for not believing me.”

“Oh, I believed you.” His voice shook with the effort of suppressing his rage. “I just thought you’d be smart enough to wait until we were further south and could seek shelter at your sister’s convent.”

“That was my plan originally,” Thomasin said. “I wanted to practice first.”

“Stand up.”

“My ankle – ”

“ _Stand. Up_!” Henry shouted.

Dead silence followed. The dog at his feet whined after a moment; Henry was hardly ever angry.

Thomasin regretted everything at once. She was his prisoner, aye, but she’d considered him something of an ally, too. He did seem to care what happened to her, and he could keep up with her in conversation. Sometimes it even seemed that he liked conversing with her.

Thomasin forced herself to her feet, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from wincing as she put weight on the leg. Henry turned on his heels and started storming off; Thomasin nearly had to run to keep up. It proved to be too much for her injury, though. She fell to the ground with a small gasp.

Henry didn’t give her time to right herself or even brush the dirt off her hands before he scooped her up in his arms and started carrying her back towards camp. He kept his gaze straight ahead; Thomasin kept her gaze on him – God, he was handsome! – and imagined the feel of his skin and hair.

But why did she want to touch him when he was angry with her? Shouldn’t she be weeping and begging his forgiveness? She certainly wanted to. She couldn’t stand the thought that her only friend in the entire world was furious at her. Even though he wasn’t her friend. Still.

“I’m sorry, Henry.”

He sighed. “I know.” Then, a moment later, “I forgive you.” He couldn’t very well stay angry at someone wearing her expression.

“Thank you.” A familiar lump was building in Thomasin’s throat, warning her that a fresh wave of tears was on its way. She leaned her head against Henry’s shoulder, tilting her face down in the hopes that he wouldn’t see her weakness. She fought to regain her composure, and put on a mask of casual disinterest.

Henry was almost certain the girl in his arms would start weeping any moment. He was a loss for what to do. The only woman he’d ever really consoled was his mother in the weeks surrounding his father’s death. All five boys rushed home to bid their father farewell and comfort their gentle mother whom they all adored.

He comforted Eleanor, his former fiancée, once or twice when she was upset, but she’d never cried in front of him. Not until Henry saw her with her new husband at a tournament. Then she did nothing but weep over what she’d done.

Henry cleared his throat, pulling himself out of his reverie. Thomasin was still lost in her head. “You know, I admire you,” he said loudly, hoping to distract her. “That must’ve been painful to admit.”

Thomasin knit her brows in confusion. “What?”

“You apologized. I imagine that happens very rarely.”

Her eyebrows dropped into a false glare. “It was a moment of weakness,” she said. “It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t worry, my lady,” Henry said, smiling. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“You know, for a moment I thought you were planning to punish me.”

He snorted. “How would I punish you? Take you away from your home, perhaps? Hand you over to a foreign king so he can marry you to a stranger?” He meant it as a joke but neither of them smiled.

“Do you know who he is?” she asked. “My _husband_.”

“No.” He wondered that, too. He could only think of a handful of barons he might trust with her, but that list shrunk more each day. “ I don’t think the king has decided yet.” For now, he was just rounding up as many Saxon noblewomen as he could with the intent of pairing them with his unattached barons to promote unity between the two peoples. Henry didn’t think there was any rhyme or reason to the matchmaking. No doubt William would offer Henry a wife of his own soon.

They were halfway back to camp when they crossed paths with Cavill soldiers who’d been sent to look for Thomasin. “Thank God!” Charlie shouted from somewhere off to the right.

Thomasin automatically pushed herself away from Henry’s chest as though she’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Can you stand?” Henry asked quietly.

“I think so.”

He eased her down onto her feet but kept his arms around her waist until he was sure she wouldn’t keel over.

Charlie jogged over to them, Crispin and one of the other soldiers trailing behind. “Where was she?”

“ _She_ was waiting for you,” Thomasin said. “There’s no fun in an easy escape. In truth, I was rather bored waiting for you to catch up to me.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows and glanced at his brother. Henry was grinning. “We’ll try to be better in the future,” he said.

“Crispin?” The boy looked up when Thomasin addressed him. “I am sorry if I got you into any trouble,” she said.

The squire’s ears reddened. “Thank you, milady.”

“You’ll have to slow your pace,” Thomasin said after they started up walking again. Henry held her by the elbow to guide her as they walked through the underbrush, but she still couldn’t keep up with their long-legged strides. “I have an injury.”

“Shall I carry you?” Henry asked, a mischievous look in his bright blue eyes. “Again.”

*

It was close to noon by the time they reached camp. They’d have to ride through the night and all day tomorrow if they were to keep the schedule they set, but no one seemed up to it. Despite Henry’s deep sleep from the night before, he was exhausted. Pursuing Thomasin half the day and imagining every possible tragedy that may have befallen her drained his newfound energy.

The men were all angry that they’d wasted their day looking for some loathsome woman who’d probably be just as happy in a den of wolves as in a castle, but they grew considerably cheerier when Henry announced that they would stay in camp for another day.

A few of the men had the sense to bring their bows with them on the journey; they’d killed half a dozen rabbits between them all. Thomasin sat in silence, watching Henry gut and skin one of the animals. He warned her to look away at first – most of the women he knew would vomit at the smell if not the sight – but she ignored him.

“I really am sorry, Henry,” she said.

“It’s all right. I understand why you did it.” He cleared his throat. He tossed the innards to his dog. “I wish you would’ve kept Kal with you, though. Make sure you were safe.”

“Is that his name? Kal?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve just been calling him Bear.”

Kal had finished his treat and was now sitting patiently, staring at Henry as he waited for another treat. Henry grinned at the beast. “Most people do.”

“I’ve never seen a man treat his dog the way you treat yours,” Thomasin said.

“How do I treat him?”

“As a companion.”

“Is it true your father could shoot an arrow from horseback at a full gallop?” Charlie interrupted. He hadn’t been close enough to hear the conversation, but he didn’t like the way Henry and Thomasin were looking at each other.

“Yes,” Thomasin said. “My brother can, too, and my sister Justina, though I doubt her husband lets her ride so fast anymore. Stephanie and I never could”

“You all have men’s names,” Henry observed. “Stephen, Justin, Thomas.”

“My mother was quite sure we would all be boys.” Thomasin grinned as she recalled the story. “She was angry with us for being girls and refused to change our names just to get back at us.”

Thomasin’s father used to tell his children the stories of each of their births. Their mother, a warrior at heart , hardly screamed during her deliveries, but one she realized she’d given birth to a daughter, she would start shouting that the infant ought to be thrown out of a window for causing her such distress, only to be born the wrong sex. When she started her laboring for a fourth time, she howled that it ought to be born outside so they could toss the little bitch into the river without too much fuss. Thankfully, Hammond was born a boy.

Thomasin’s father always laughed when he told those stories. He would sometimes become so breathless that he’d start hacking and coughing and his eyes would water. Thomasin liked those stories best because of the way it made her father laugh. Ordinarily he had the air of a wolf about him, warlike and hungry, but when he laughed he looked almost like a child.

“Your mother sounds like you,” Henry said.

Charlie caught the note of tenderness in his voice. “Lady Thomasin, I think you ought to rest. You didn’t sleep last night and we’ll have a long day’s ride tomorrow.” He shot his brother a look.

“Of course.” Thomasin stood. “Good night, then.”

“Good night,” they echoed.

Henry sent Kal with Thomasin. He watched her walk away and disappear into her tent.

“Have you gone mad?” Charlie snarled once she was out of sight.

“I can’t befriend her?” Henry countered.

“She’s not yours, Henry.” Charlie sighed. “You have to remember that. Even if you ask for her, there’s no guarantee William will let you have her.” Henry looked away. “You fall in love too easily.”

“Eleanor was to be my wife. It was my duty to love her.”

“It’s not your duty to love _her_ ,” Charlie said sharply, nodding at Thomasin’s tent. “For your own sake, brother. Don’t lose yourself so quickly.”

Henry didn’t join Thomasin in the tent that night. The next morning, when it came time to ride, he ignored her, forcing her to ride with Charlie instead. And the next day. And the day after. They still ate supper together, but Charlie dominated the conversation. Then, when it was time for bed, Thomasin slept with Kal in the tent. Henry stayed outside.

She was damned miserable.

Thomasin wagered she was getting her blood soon. There was no other explanation for the dejection she felt. She thought she’d purged all her tears yesterday while she waited for Henry to find her, but the sting in her eyes warned her of more to come. So, like a wounded animal that’s been cornered, she lashed out at her captors even more.

They also suspected she was getting her blood soon. They thought it was the only explanation for her sudden change in mood after being so amiable the day before. Charlie knew the real reason, of course, and that it was his fault for separating Henry and Thomasin, but it was for the best. Henry was inconsolable when Eleanor married. He didn’t emerge from his room for two days, and when he finally did, he was in the blackest mood his family had ever seen him in. No one could cheer him. Not even Kal.

Charlie would rather spend the journey with Henry moping and sighing than try to put him back together again when his heart was broken – broken worse than it was now.

This was for the best. It was all for the best.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry stops fighting his feelings

Thomasin was too tired to keep her eyes open any longer. She couldn’t relax in Charlie’s arms the way she did Henry’s, but she couldn’t fight off her exhaustion. She fell asleep against his chest.

Henry wanted to murder something when he saw Thomasin’s head resting against his brother’s shoulder the way she’d rested it against his. And what if she had a bad dream again? Would Charlie hug her the way he had? Would he comfort her?

No. He wouldn’t. He’d probably wake her up straight away. He was probably uncomfortable having the woman asleep against him – uncomfortable with her closeness in general. That, at least, brought Henry some comfort. They didn’t like each other; if Thomasin had fallen asleep it was only because she was exhausted beyond belief.

What really bothered Henry was Thomasin’s apparent indifference towards him these past three days. It was his own fault, of course – he was the one who ignored her first – but part of him hoped she would express her anger by shouting or insulting him; Henry figured it was the only real way Thomasin would interact with him.

Unless, of course, they were to marry, in which case she would be forced to interact with him regularly. She would pretend to be unhappy about the arrangement at first to protect her pride, but Henry was quite certain she would open up to him soon enough. And that she would be relieved.

He spent most of their hours-long rides imagining how he would ask William for Thomasin’s hand. William would give her to him, of course. He was a fine soldier and a loyal subject; certainly he was entitled to a prize as inconsequential as a bride. Plus, William was something of a romantic: He was known to love his wife, whom he’d pursued for years before finally securing her hand in marriage.

The Cavills always sent their fastest two riders ahead of the rest of them to scope out the area and warn the barons of any danger. One of them was trotting back toward the traveling party. “Baron Cavill!” he called.

“Which one?” Charlie called back, smiling.

Thomasin stirred against him. The vibrations of his booming voice in his chest jostled her awake. At first she thought she was in Henry’s arms and snuggled back in, but the smell was wrong. She went ramrod straight when she looked up and saw the wrong face above her.

“There’s a camp ahead,” the scout said. He was a serious man and never responded to either Cavill’s teasing.

“Whose?” Henry asked. “Friendly?”

“Another of King William’s barons,” the scout replied. “Your kin, if I’m not mistaken.” He grinned. “He asked me not to ruin the surprise.”

“All right, then,” Henry said, gesturing forward. “Lead the way.”

The camp was in a wide clearing set away from the road. It was

The men appeared to be in high spirits after hearing of their guests. Most of them stood along the edges of the camp, searching through the Cavill soldiers’ faces for familiar ones. Thomasin thought in passing that it was a good sign if soldiers serving different lords were friends. She’d rather not stop for a social visit just now; she wanted to get to London and get things over with.

A thoroughly unremarkable man with close-cropped brown hair pushed through the others and cupped his hands around his mouth as he called out. “Cavill!”

Henry and Charlie broke into broad smiles when they caught sight of the man.

“Roger!” Henry called. He agilely slid down from his stallion’s back, tugged off his leather riding gloves, and opened his arms to embrace his friend.

Charlie dismounted and lifted his arms toward Thomasin to help her to her feet. She set her hands on his shoulders as he held her by her waist. Looking down at him, she couldn’t help but compare him to his elder brother. Charlie was the slightest bit taller than Henry, making him the largest of the five Cavill brothers. He had a slightly rounded, youthful face and an easy smile. He’d probably be considered handsome in most circles, but to Thomasin, he might as well be a slug for all his appeal.

Henry was like the sun, glowing blindingly bright, sucking all the attention away from the other stars in the sky until it seemed there were no other stars at all. How was it that Henry was still without a wife? Someone like him must be drowning in marriage proposals. Perhaps he had a habit of wooing ladies and then ignoring them. Prick.

Charlie took Thomasin’s hand and guided her over to where his friend stood. The ground was particularly muddy and she had to concentrate on where to step. That, and she didn’t want to look at Henry. Or the stranger, for that matter. She was quite tired of her captors, of the journey, and of the Normans as a whole. The last thing she wanted now was to make small talk with yet another person.

The man called Roger was of average size and build, but he looked significantly smaller standing beside the abnormally large Cavills. He was perhaps four years younger than them but still looked like a boy.

“My friends!” Roger said with a laugh, throwing his arms around Charlie. Thomasin watched from a few feet away until she and Roger met eyes.

Henry smiled. “Roger, may I present –”

“Lady Thomasin, if I’m not mistaken.” Roger pressed a chaste kiss to Thomasin’s knuckles while she fought the urge to smack him. His very existence grated on her nerves. “What a pleasure it is to meet you.”

Thomasin nostrils flared. “Is it.”

“Thomasin, this is Roger,” Henry explained. He was grinning from ear to ear. Running into his friend had cheered him considerably. “Roger’s eldest sister is married to our brother Piers.”

“It seems England is overrun with Cavills,” Thomasin said tightly.

“Speaking of which, where’s Simon?” Roger scanned the area for him. “Didn’t he go with you?”

“He’s holding the Latymer keep. Henry and I are bringing Lady Thomasin to the king,” Charlie explained. “What are you doing out here?”

“Traveling to London, of course,” Roger said. “We were lodging with a Saxon baron after he swore fealty to the king.” He clapped Henry on the shoulder. “The journey’s much improved now. Come. Have a drink with me before supper.”

“Um –” Henry started, glancing at Thomasin in his peripheral vision.

“After Lady Thomasin is settled, of course,” Roger said. “You shall have my tent. It’s at the far end of the clearing, facing the trees. You’ll have great privacy.”

Thomasin bowed her head respectfully. “Thank you.”

“I’ll escort you,” Henry said quickly, ignoring the look his brother shot him. “I’ve need of a walk anyway. Work the stiffness out of my legs.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Thomasin inclined her head to Baron Roger again.

Henry He stayed a half-step behind her as they ambled silently through the camp. Kal ran ahead to the tent and then back to Henry, only to run to the tent and back again. Henry hoped Thomasin might look at him or speak to him, even to shout at him.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said at length, “that I haven’t spoken to you much these last few days.”

“It’s fine. I understand.”

Henry stepped ahead of her, blocking her path. “You don’t, though.”

She fixed her murky grey eyes in a death glare and walked around him.

Henry stepped in front of her again, walking backwards toward the tent while still looking at Thomasin. “After you ran off – Charlie, he said something –”

“I don’t care what your brother told you,” she snarled, shoving past him. “In four or five days, we’ll be in London. I’ll be handed off and you can wash your hands of me.”

Henry caught her by the wrist as she walked away from him, forcing her to turn and look at him. “Thomasin, I don’t _want_ to wash my hands of you.”

“You will _lose_ your hands if you don’t take them off me.”

He released her. “Thomasin –”

“I suggest you start drinking with your friend before I join you for dinner. Enjoy yourself while you have the chance.” She let the ten flap fall closed behind her. She might as well have slammed a door in his face.

He vigorously rubbed his face, then slid his fingers through his hair. “Fuck,” he breathed to himself.

One of Roger’s men directed him to a stream so he could clean himself up. Kal rolled back and forth in the shallow water while Henry splashed cold water on his face and the back of his neck. The water’s chill chased away his thoughts, if only for a moment.

*

Thomasin lay back on the furs in Roger’s tent. There was a small hole in the top through which she could watch the sky change. The sun would set in an hour or two.

She’d dreaded nighttime for as long as she could remember. Things seemed more sinister. Justina used to tell her that Father let the prisoners in the small dungeon under the castle out for an hour each night to exercise. Some of them, she said, would find a way up into the main castle and wander around in search of comfortable rooms or fair maidens to ravish. It was a lie, of course, but it terrified her all the same.

At least Thomasin’s captors didn’t keep her under lock and key, even after her escape attempt. She was a prisoner, certainly, but a prisoner with latitude.

She’d be a different sort of a prisoner soon. She’d lie on her back like she did now while some foreign stranger mounted her like an animal. She’d heard conflicting stories of what the wedding night was like: She might feel an uncomfortable stretch; she might feel as though she were being split in half. Either way, it would be unpleasant.

She wasn’t frightened of the pain – not really. She was more afraid of what it represented: the loss of her virginity and therefor, her freedom. She’d be bound to whichever man made her bleed. He could very well be a monster.

She comforted herself by saying she wouldn’t have married someone she liked, anyway. Cerdic drove her to the brink of madness but at least she knew him, knew that he would endeavor to treat her well and make her comfortable despite the fact that he wanted to smack her half the time.

Thomasin trusted Cerdic. That’s what it was. She doubted she would have the luxury of trusting her new husband for a while yet. Whoever he was.

*

Roger reclined against a tree while Jamie helped Charlie out of his armor. “Is it true what they say about Thomasin?”

“What?” Charlie asked, eyebrows raised, as Jamie removed his breastplate. “That she’s vexing?”

“That’s a far kinder description than I’ve heard.” Roger chuckled.

Charlie smiled. “And what description have you heard?”

Roger looked off, pretending to be deep in thought. “I believe I heard her described with a term often applied to dogs of the fairer sex.”

“I suppose some might consider her such,” Charlie said diplomatically. “You, I think, will find her delightful. Though not nearly as much as Henry does.”

“Hmm. I thought that might be the case,” Roger said with a sigh.

Charlie sighed back. “He is a bit eager, isn’t he?” He stretched his arms as Jamie removed the last of his armor. He motioned for Roger to hand over his cup of wine.

“Hopefully the king will let him have her when you reach London.” Roger gestured to one of his men for a new glass of wine. “I can’t imagine there are many barons queueing up for a spirited Saxon girl.”

“Hmph.” Charlie reclined on the ground beside his friend. “It’s not over until it’s over. I’m sure Simon’s having the time of his life, ruling some impregnable fortress. I think the king may give it to him.”

“Won’t they give the fortress to Thomasin’s husband?” Roger asked.

“Eventually, I think,” Charlie replied. “For now, it’s too dangerous for her to stay there. She knows its defenses. If her brother were to show up, who’s to say she wouldn’t let him in? And the king needs to keep either the lady or the fortress for leverage.”

“Do you really think this brother is such a threat?”

“If he’s anything like his father.” Charlie sighed. “I must confess, my friend, part of me wishes the late Baron Latymer had lived. I would’ve like to see him fight.”

“Who?” Henry appeared behind his brother. “Give me some wine. I think I ought to get drunk while I have the chance.”

Roger raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think that would please Lady Thomasin.”

“It was her idea.” Henry sighed and sat down beside his friends. He stretched one leg out before him and bent the other one so his could rest his arm on his knee. “I thought it was rather a good one.”

Henry, Charlie, and Roger sat by the high fire at the center of camp as the sun started to descend. There were a dozen or so fires blazing in the clearing, each one surrounded by laughing men. Roger, as usual, managed to distract Henry from his troubles; it was as if the entire Cavill infantry let out a sigh of relief when Roger poured his brothers-by-law some ale and Henry took a long drink.

His friend and his brother had him laughing in no time. It felt almost like he was at home again, talking and joking with his old friends as he once did. He was always a cheerful man in his youth. He still was – or would be, if it weren’t for the contrarian redheaded girl he traveled with.

Henry was several drinks ahead of his friends and had stretched out on his back, folding his hands behind his head. “We ought to go for a hunt when we have the chance,” he said.

“I wonder when that will be,” Roger said.

“I’m surprised you’re recommending such a thing, Henry,” said Charlie, a wicked grin on his face. “All of Normandy knows you shoot about as well as you curtsey.”

They all laughed.

“Thomasin told me her father could shoot an arrow from horseback and hit his target with great accuracy,” Henry said. “I’ll bet he was a hell of a hunter.” He exhaled dramatically. “It seems a shame a man like that should die in his bed of a common illness rather than the battlefield.”

Charlie hummed in agreement.

“If Latymer had lived,” Roger started, “who do you think the king would’ve sent to face him?”

“Lawrence, most likely,” Charlie said. “That would’ve been a hell of a battle.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised Lawrence is still in King William’s good graces,” Roger said. “Even before he slaughtered that family. After what happened with his poor wife.”

“Oh, God, let’s not talk about that poor girl,” Henry groaned. “I’m in a good mood; I’d like to keep it for as long as I can.”

Roger shook his head. “Seventeen years old. He ought to have been held accountable for her death.”

“She took her own life.” Charlie took a long sip of his drink. “Suicide isn’t murder.”

“The whole world knows he drove her to it!” Roger objected.

“For the love of God, shut up,” Henry nearly shouted. “And do _not_ tell Thomasin about that,” Henry warned, pointing an accusatory finger at his companions. “Any of it.”

“Don’t tell me about what?” Thomasin said. She lifted her skirts enough to step over Henry’s recumbent form. “Do sit up, Henry. Someone could break their neck tripping over you.”

“My lady.” Roger stood up to bow to her and kiss her hand. Charlie only dipped his head. Roger called to one of his squires to fetch something for Thomasin to sit on so she wouldn’t be forced to sit in the mud.

“Thank you, baron, but that’s not necessary,” she said. “I’m already quite a mess.” She settled in. “May I have some wine?”

“If Henry didn’t drink it all,” Charlie grumbled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it in the morning,” Henry said.

Henry spent most of supper fighting to maintain his pleasant state rather than falling into the despair that drunkenness sometimes caused. He walked Thomasin back to her tent when the meal was over; thankfully, he wasn’t drunk enough to stumble.

“I can walk across a field by myself,” she muttered.

“I know. But I wanted a moment alone with you,” Henry said.

“I thought I made it perfectly clear that I don’t want your company.”

“You did. But the wine has given me the confidence to risk your wrath.” He stopped walking; she did, too. “I’d like to kiss you.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

He took a deep breath. “Because I’m drunk, and I’m quite sure I won’t have the courage to try again when I’m sober.” He swallowed hard. “What do you think?”

“About your drunkenness?”

“About my kissing you.”

Thomasin assessed him from head to toe, exhaling deeply. “Come.” She took him by the hand and led him around her tent so that it would block them from view of the soldiers. She dropped his hand and crossed her arms. “All right. Be quick about it. I’m tired and I would like to sleep.”

Henry smiled warmly; Thomasin bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling back. Damn, he was handsome. And sweet.

“Have you ever kissed a man before?” Henry asked.

“If you keep talking, I’m going to change my mind.”

It was strange. The inside of Henry’s warm mouth had the texture of an overly wet sponge and he tasted like ale. She didn’t think she liked that but she couldn’t be sure. She had to fight to hold on to a coherent thought. Henry’s agile tongue kept chasing them away. One of his hands fisted her hair, pulling her head back so that his face was tilted up towards his.

His mouth slanted over hers again and again with such strength that she was forced to open her mouth. Henry’s tongue darted inside and brushed against hers; Thomasin’s knees nearly gave out. He clutched her tighter to him to keep her from falling.

He lost himself in the feeling of her – her sweetness and warmth, the softness of her hair that he’d been dreaming about since they met. He didn’t want to stop. Ever.

But when she started whimpering and pressing herself against him, he had to. Breaking apart from her felt like severing a limb.

“Why did you stop?” Thomasin demanded as she fought to regain her breath.

“Because I wanted to keep going,” Henry admitted. “I want you.” He swallowed. “But I won’t dishonor you before marriage.”

Thomasin bit her lower lip thoughtfully; Henry nearly jumped on top of her when he saw it. “And what if I asked you to?”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Henry was clearly at war with himself, the way he raked his eyes over Thomasin’s lush curves with equal parts desire and despair. Thomasin knew she was behaving like a whore – her maidenhead belonged to her husband by right, and sleeping with a man to whom she wasn’t wed would be spitting in the face of their holy union. But what if Henry was to be her husband? Surely that wouldn’t be wrong.

“I would say . . .” Henry took a deep breath, steeling himself. He was already regretting the words he was about to say. “I would say that you ought to ask me again when we’re both sober.” He stepped forward again; Thomasin shut her eyes, anticipating another kiss, but he chastely pressed his lips to her forehead. “Good night, Thomasin.”

Thomasin was, perhaps for the first time in her life, at a loss for words.


	5. Chapter 5

Thomasin hadn’t slept well. She rarely did. She was the sort of person who woke every couple of hours and could not fall back asleep. At least when she was awake at home she could pace about her bedroom or even summon a servant to bring her a cup of warm milk.

Thomasin was going to demand her own horse today. If they refused to give her one, she’d walk. Walking might actually be preferable. Her sleepless nights on the frozen ground did nothing to ease the soreness in her muscles from a week on horseback. Henry always laid down pelts and cloaks for her to sleep on, but it was nothing like her soft bed at home.

The Cavills and their soldiers slept on the hard ground. Thomasin wasn’t even sure if they all had blankets. Surely they slept worse than she did. But men didn’t need such luxuries as women did. Women were far too soft in body and soul; men were steady and strong. If they did sleep poorly they had the strength to keep their mouths shut. 

But it wasn’t the chill or discomfort that kept Thomasin awake. It was her struggle over whether or not to escape to her sister’s convent the day after tomorrow. It wasn’t the logistics that troubled her – she had her plan all worked out – it was Henry.

She didn’t want to give him up, at least until after he bedded her. She told herself that her ridiculous infatuation would be gone once they’d slept together and she would be able to leave in peace. Probably.

Then she’d seek sanctuary at Stephanie’s convent until King William lost interest in her. She didn’t know what she’d do after that – she certainly couldn’t remain in a convent indefinitely without losing her sense – but she would have time to figure it out.

But she didn’t have much time left to decide whether or not she would go through with her escape. They were three days from London, four at most, and tomorrow she’d be within a day’s ride of her sister. It was her only chance.

She was sure that the king, at least, would treat her with the respect a woman of her rank deserved, but there would be no way to escape London once she was there, and no hope once she was wed.

*

Henry was reminded of a story he heard from his tutors about the old Roman god Jupiter, who once had a headache so fierce that the god of fire and forge had to crack his skull open with a hammer to relieve the pain. He made a great hole in Jupiter’s skull and out popped a fully-formed woman, a goddess of war, armed with weapons and furious at her forced confinement. Henry thought the tale was quite a fitting comparison for his current predicament, but he was in too much pain to be pleased with his own cleverness.

The last time he felt like this, he was fifteen years old. He had tried and failed to out-drink his brothers Simon and Nik the night before. Piers felt terribly superior, having himself abstained from overindulgence and warning his brothers against it. Poor Charlie wanted to take part in the competition, but was barred from the festivities. Henry’s only consolation that day was knowing that his brothers felt as shit as he did.

Henry vomited twice before they set out. He crouched beside the stream near camp to clean himself.

Thomasin appeared a few yards away around the time Henry started blowing water out of his nostrils to clear them of the sting his acidic spew left behind. He didn’t notice her standing there, her hands demurely folded in front of her, until he started splashing cold water onto the back of his neck.

Thomasin didn’t look murderous, only disgusted. Her rosy lips slanted into a frown and her straight eyebrows were lifted in a way that suggested she’d never seen such savage behavior. Good Lord, had she really let his man stick his tongue down her throat?

Henry sighed deeply. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Far longer than I should have liked.” She made a great show of walking far upstream from him before kneeling to wash her hands and face.

Henry cleared his throat. “I remember. Last night. I want you to know that. I wasn’t so drunk that I forgot.”

 _Idiot_. Henry was ordinarily so articulate and charming, but not when addressing a beautiful woman, especially Thomasin. At least Eleanor had smiled over his nervousness, encouraged him with reassurances and kind words. Thomasin teased him.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Thomasin said. “You’re a thirty-year-old man who managed not to lose his memory to a bottle.”

Thankfully, she stood up and walked away before Henry vomited one more time.

There was no argument over Thomasin walking or riding. Henry readily volunteered his horse for her use. He tried to save face by pretending to guide it along, holding it by the reins. He was lucky Thomasin couldn’t see his face.

Charlie could, though, and he grinned from ear to ear at the sight of his brother’s great distress. “Do you know what, Roger?”

Roger chuckled. “No, Charlie, I don’t. Pray tell me.”

Charlie fixed his eyes on Henry’s back. “I think I’d like a song.”

Henry responded by swallowing back a dry heave.

Roger led their collective soldiers – all one hundred and sixty-three of them – in a bawdy ballad favored by soldiers visiting pubs or brothels. They’d ordinarily never sing such a thing in the presence of a lady, but Thomasin, as ever, was a special case.

She leaned forward slightly to speak to Henry. “I must say, I feel as though you deserve this. A proper punishment for your drunkenness.” And for rejecting her advances last night.

Henry sighed and peeked back over his shoulder at Thomasin. She had that wicked gleam in her eyes. “I don’t believe so.”

“No?”

“I think your company is punishment enough,” he teased.

“Fear not, my lord.” Thomasin straightened up. “You’ll be rid of me soon enough.”

“Not for long, I hope.” Henry smiled as he looked up at Thomasin. His heart sank when he saw the look on her face.

She looked distracted. Possibly even displeased. “Do you really think to marry me?”

His heart fell into his stomach. “Do you not want me to?”

The procession abruptly stopped. Roger turned his horse to face his men. “Take an hour to eat and attend to your needs,” he said.

Henry’s need was to get far away as fast as he could. There was a terrible feeling of fear and dread crawling up his spine. If he didn’t get himself under control soon he’d have one of his _fits of hysteria_ , as the physician had called in Henry’s youth.

Kal followed him into the trees, leaving Thomasin alone on the horse. He must be doing this on purpose, she told herself. He must know that she planned to run away. That’s why he was doing this to her. He wanted her to suffer over the decision. Yes. That must be it.

The others assumed that Henry ran off to vomit again, but Thomasin knew the real reason he fled. She knew what she’d done to him. But it wasn’t her fault! She didn’t want to marry a Norman, even if that Norman was Henry Cavill. And why did he want to marry her? She was pretty enough, aye, but the only quality she possessed worth noting was her temper. And yes, she enjoyed her banter with Henry, but he’d grow tired of it soon enough, and then he’d be shackled to a Saxon shrew for the rest of his life.

This was in his best interest, too.

Charlie came over to help Thomasin down from the horse. He knew Henry well enough to know that he wasn’t purging himself in the woods. He’d retreated because of something Thomasin had said.

“What did you say to him?” Charlie asked as he set Thomasin on her feet. Thankfully, he wasn’t angry with her.

“I didn’t say anything,” she replied. “That’s the problem.”

Charlie sighed. “Part of me hoped he would become hard-hearted with time, considering what happened with his fiancée. But he’s still . . .”

“What happened with his fiancée?” Thomasin asked. It was none of her business but who cared at this point?

“Eleanor slept with another man a few weeks before she and Henry were to marry. She eloped with her lover and left Henry behind with no explanation.”

Thomasin frowned in thought. “That must’ve been very difficult for him.”

“It was. One would assume that he wouldn’t open himself up to such heartbreak again, at least not so easily, but for reasons unknown, you’re irresistible to him.”

The words were harsh, but Charlie hadn’t intended it to be an insult, nor did Thomasin take it as one. She had no idea why she appealed to him, either.

*

Kal managed to bring Henry back from the brink of hysteria by leaning his full weight against his master’s side. For whatever reason, the weight always calmed Henry and kept him grounded. He recovered himself in some fifteen minutes.

Henry always had a strange moment of perfect clarity after one of these episodes. Something about purging all of his emotions in a violent storm allowed his rational mind to take over, if only for a short while.

He returned to the traveling party right on time. Charlie and Roger gave him sidelong glances to be sure he was all right. A couple of the soldiers looked up, more out of curiosity than concern, but nothing seemed amiss.

Thomasin was smoothing her skirts and avoiding Henry’s gaze when he wordlessly hoisted himself onto his horse and, without warning, lifted Thomasin onto his lap.

Thomasin was no longer alarmed by Henry lifting and moving her like a doll – in fact, part of her liked it – so she was able to keep her wits about her. “I thought you were angry with me?” It was half a question.

“I may be,” Henry said. “I’m going to ask the king for your hand anyway. You can refuse me if you want to, but I’ll ask all the same.”

“I suppose that’s your right,” Thomasin conceded. “But he may say no.”

“He may say that the sky is green, too,” Henry retorted.

“Henry, he’s your king. And my guardian, since I’ve no male relatives to speak for me.” She swallowed back the bile in her throat. She still couldn’t stomach the idea of a usurper being in charge of her future. “If he says no, you’ll have to listen to him.”

“He won’t say no.”

*

Dinner was awkward at best. Thomasin ate with Roger and the Cavills, though she and Henry were mostly quiet.

Thomasin desperately needed some time to herself to figure things out. Henry was everywhere she looked, even behind her eyelids when she tried to sleep.

What she needed was a long, hot bath – just like the one she’d been relaxing in when he and his men arrived. That wouldn’t be possible until her arrival in London, but a freezing bath in the pond in the middle of the woods would do in a pinch.

*****

Henry woke himself in the middle of the night to bathe in the pond. The alcohol was mostly out of his system now, thank God, so his headache was gone. The only remaining symptom was a general feeling of discomfort like raw wool grating against bare skin or being watched by someone hidden. For that, the only remedy was a bath.

They’d made camp near a water source, as always. This time it was a pond, deep enough to fully submerge himself if he wanted to. It would be the closest thing he had to a real bath in almost a month. It wasn’t a long time by society’s standards, but Henry was in the habit of bathing every other week.

Sometimes he felt like the tub was the only place he could relax. God, this was probably the most stressful week of his life, his father’s deal and fiancée’s betrayal notwithstanding.

Aye, a bath was the only remedy for it, even if that bath was in ice water.

He froze in place when he saw someone in the water.

Thomasin stood at the center of the pond in its deepest spot, the waterline just brushing her breasts. She was facing away from Henry. The only thing he could really see was her arms as she massaged soap into her scalp and her long, bright hair clinging to her bare back.

Damn, damn, damn, damn. Maybe he was still drunk. Or his dreams were following him into waking life now.

But when her head turned and her eyes met his, he knew what he was seeing was real. He wasn’t creative enough to imagine her luminous skin, the gentle slope of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the little port wine stain on her right side.

Henry was frozen in place, overwhelmed at the beauty before him.

A long moment passed before Thomasin spoke. “This is the second time that you’ve ruined my bath.” She hoped to sound flirtatious but she sounded like an absolute buffoon. Her nerves were so intense that it was a wonder she could speak at all.

Henry smiled slightly. “I apologize.”

She swallowed; her throat was bone dry. “But you’re not sorry.”

“No.” He wasn’t laughing anymore. “I’m not sorry.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. Thomasin could almost certainly see how hard he was; he wondered if the sight would arouse or trouble her.

It did both. It took all her willpower to focus on his face and not on his groin. The sharp outlines of his aristocratic features were somewhat blurred in the dim moonlight, but each piece of him was still easily discernible. He looked so overwhelmingly graceful and appealing that Thomasin thought God must first have carved him as a marble statue, like those the Romans left behind. It was the only explanation for his otherworldly appearance.

“Are you cold?” he finally asked.

Thomasin took a deep breath to keep herself steady. “Yes.” 

Henry knelt down and picked up Thomasin’s cloak before holding it open to her. “Come here, then.”

She moved slowly, her hips swaying seductively as she came toward him. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? His body was screaming at him to touch her, take her without any concern or delay. His rational mind shouted back that he wasn’t a fool. He would not bed Thomasin until they were married.

The two halves compromised. There were still many things one could do without fully making love.

Thomasin stood in front of him but he didn’t move to cover her with the cloak. “Do you still want me to touch you?” he rasped

Thomasin swallowed hard, nodding.

“Say it.”

“I want you to touch me, Henry.”

He started kissing her before she was done speaking; he caught the last word, his name, in his open mouth. He dropped the cloak on the ground and grabbed her breast more forcefully than he should Thomasin made a noise that indicated she was both confused and pleased by what he was doing to her.

He couldn’t help but laugh at the high-pitched whine she gave when he started to roll her nipple between his fingers. “Hush. Someone could hear us.”

Thomasin clung to him for dear life. She couldn’t trust her knees not to buckle. “I’m going to fall over.”

Henry gave her a peck on the lips and wrapped an arm around her waist, hoisting her into the air. He used his free arm to lay Thomasin’s cloak out on the ground. He knelt down on it and slowly leaned forward until she lay flat on the soft fur lining. He hovered over her. “There. That’s much more comfortable, isn’t it?”

She grunted in reply and lifted her head to claim his mouth.

“Tk, tk, tk, tk,” Henry tutted.

“Kiss me,” Thomasin demanded.

“I will. Just not here.” He brushed a strong finger over her lips, red and swollen from kissing. He pecked her jaw first, then kissed a trail down her neck until he’d reached the valley between her breasts. His eyes flickered up to see the look on her face. He smirked in satisfaction before he closed his mouth around her nipple.

Thomasin’s reaction was, in a word, strong: She started convulsing as though she were having a fit. She bit down on her fist to keep from crying out.

Henry was still grinning when he pulled up to gauge her reaction. “Why did you stop?” she huffed.

He brought himself back up to her face and kissed her. She sunk her teeth into his lower lip. “Ah!” He pulled away and touched his fingers to his mouth. He wasn’t bleeding. It took a moment for him to process. “Did you just _bite_ me?”

Thomasin was furious. “Yes. And I’ll bite you again if you don’t keep touching me!”

Henry smirked again, arrogantly pleased with the effect he had on her. Thomasin wanted to bite him again. “Relax.” He adjusted their position so that she remained on her back while he lay on his side, propped up by his elbow. She used his forearm as a pillow. “Are you comfortable?”

Thomasin growled in reply.

Henry let his free hand roam over her naked body, raising goosebumps wherever his fingers brushed her skin. Thomasin’s breathing was so rough she was practically wheezing. Henry paused at the apex of her thighs. “Do you want me to keep touching you?” he whispered. He wasn’t smirking anymore. No, he looked as wild and needy as Thomasin did.

“Yes.” She grabbed his wrist and guided his hand to her core. “ _Please_.”

He gently cupped her in his palm. “Have you ever had anything inside of you?”

That murderous look came back into Thomasin’s eyes. “How _dare_ you question –”

“I don’t mean a man,” Henry assured her. “I’m not questioning your purity.” Not that it would matter to him if she slept with someone else before they met so long as she wanted him now.

Thomasin frowned. “What else would . . . go in there?”

“Fingers.” Henry’s deep, quiet voice sent a shiver down her spine and into her core; Henry could feel her getting even wetter. She was already soaking wet, of course, her sweet cream so abundant that it leaked out of her slit even without Henry opening her folds.

“No.” Thomasin sounded like a frightened child. She felt like one, too. “Is that what you’ll do? Put your fingers . . .”

Henry knew this, of course. She’d probably never been vulnerable like this before. He was affectionate and protective by nature; he was happy to soothe her fear. “Only if you want me to.” Her head was still on his forearm but he could still stroke her hair with his thumb. “I won’t hurt you, sweetheart.”

“A woman’s first time is supposed to hurt,” Thomasin muttered.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” There was a long moment of silence as they studied each other. His eyes were just about glowing, like that moment when lightning strikes and everything looks bright. “Touch me.”

He obliged.


	6. Chapter 6

The only coherent thought Thomasin could form was that she was probably dying. Whatever his long fingers and broad palm were doing to her . . . She was either dying or going mad. Possibly both.

He was everywhere at once – inside her, beside her, holding her, his masculine scent, the sound of his rough breathing. Sometimes he would dip his face down to kiss her and she could taste him.

He was big and warm and safe and she liked the pretty things he murmured in her ear. ‘ _Good girl_ ’ and ‘ _Just relax_ ’ and ‘ _You’re so beautiful’_ and ‘ _You feel so good’_ and _‘It’s okay’_ and _‘Don’t be afraid’_ and _‘I’m right here_.’

She needed to be reassured that she shouldn’t be afraid of what was happening to her. She’d never felt like this before, never even knew someone _could_ feel like this, like her soul was peeling itself from her body. But Henry was there and he wouldn’t let her fly away.

She was warmer and wetter and tighter than Henry could have imagined. He could only fit one of his huge fingers in her slick sheath. Her silky walls burned as if with fever. Every time he removed his finger, those velvet walls tightened around him as if forcefully trying to keep him inside. He rubbed the heel of his thumb sporadically over her little peak just to see how she bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to contain the overwhelming pleasure she was feeling.

Her passage was so soft and welcoming that Henry had to moan, too. He thought he might burst right out of his trousers if he didn’t do something soon but he forced himself to wait. Thomasin required his full attention. He wanted to make this perfect for her to show her just how safe and satisfied she would be when they wed.

Plus, he was substantially bigger than most men, and for a maid like Thomasin, well . . . It could be intimidating. And there was a real chance he might shove her knee into his groin if she disliked the look of it.

Henry slipped a second finger inside her, thinking she was ready for it.

She wasn’t.

Thomasin’s legs slammed shut and dug her nails into his forearm. “That hurts!” She wanted him to stop now but she snuggled further into his arms for comfort. That made him happy.

Henry hushed her and withdrew both fingers to focus on her swollen pink pearl. She felt empty without him inside of her; she wanted him to put his big finger inside of her again but she’d lost the ability to speak.

Every revolution of Henry’s fingers made her all but lose control. His rhythm became faster and faster; her heartbeat did, too.

Henry felt the first tremors of her release, saw the fearful crease in her brow as she struggled to make sense of what was happening. “Come, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Come for me. Come.”

She didn’t know where he wanted her to go and she didn’t really care. The sensation somehow intensified. Her trembling thighs instinctively closed around Henry’s arm, but he kept up the onslaught. “ _Please_.” She didn’t know if she was asking him to stop or keep going. Hell, she couldn’t even remember her own name.

She twisted her face into his chest and dug her nails into his shoulders as the feeling became more than she could bear. Her thighs automatically slammed shut around his wrist. But his fingers had already stopped moving. He stayed still, letting her shudder and convulse around him while she rode out her climax.

Even when it was over, she couldn’t keep still. She writhed each time a little aftershock pulsed down her legs. She’d completely lost control of herself but she was too overwhelmed to care. Her inner thighs and the cloak beneath her were damp from her orgasm, and even now she made strained sobbing noises into Henry’s shirt, which she had already torn from gripping too hard.

Henry didn’t mind. Quite the opposite. He had that distinctly male feeling of arrogance that came from satisfying a woman. He had that little smirk on his face even as he soothed her. he ran his hand down her body from her sternum almost to her core, leaving behind a wet trail of her sweet honey that coated his fingers. He wanted to taste her slick arousal but that would probably unnerve her. Henry would bet his immortal soul that she’d never heard of a man pleasuring a woman with his mouth – and bet his life that she’d smack him if he tried such a thing.

“Shh,” he cooed. “It’s all right.” Thomasin whimpered in reply. “Hush, love.” He covered her with the cloak and carried her back to the tent. She was limp in his arms, as if her searing climax had somehow melted her bones.

The first thing Thomasin said was a dramatic accusation. “You’ve killed me.”

“If I had killed you, you wouldn’t be talking,” Henry pointed out. “You certainly wouldn’t be arguing with me.”

Her chest and neck were still flushed and her eyes were watery from the intensity of it all. She was shaking, too, but she refused to let any of that shut her up. “I’m not arguing. I’m just telling you that you’ve killed me.” She swallowed nervously. “Am I meant to feel this . . .” she struggled to find the proper word to describe her state. “. . . this weak?”

“Yes. It will pass.”

Henry crouched to fit through the opening flap in the tent and set Thomasin down on the makeshift bed while he went back to the pond to gather the things she left behind. He was on edge now, partially because he needed to attend to his own needs and partially because he was afraid someone had seen them together.

None of his men would dare speak ill of their lord’s mistress or her purity, but he wasn’t so sure about Roger’s soldiers. Not to mention Charlie, who might very well collapse with anger and shock at his older brother’s actions.

His mistress?

Yes, he supposed that was more or less Thomasin’s relationship to him now that he’d touched her. A lord’s long-term mistress was essentially regarded as his wife, though she commanded less respect after giving up her virtue before marriage.

But Thomasin hadn’t given up her virtue. Henry took extra care not to disturb or damage her maidenhead. And he was going to marry her anyway, so it wouldn’t really matter if he did.

Some men insisted their brides be examined before the wedding to ensure they were fully intact, mostly royals. Henry wouldn’t do that, of course, but he wanted to preserve it all the same for tradition’s sake if not Thomasin’s.

Thomasin wished Henry hadn’t left. He was gone for less than ten minutes, but in those minutes, all sorts of terrible thoughts started creeping in. Would she now be considered a fallen woman? Did she make a fool of herself?What about her body – did it look right? Her hips and thighs were bigger than either of her sisters’ were and her breasts never seemed quite firm enough and what about the birthmark on her side and _dear God_ what about her womanly parts? What if Henry found her disgusting now?

She was about to fall into a full panic when Kal set his head on her stomach and gave her a look that asked, _Do you want to talk about it_?

“Do you know something, Kal?” Thomasin asked, brushing her thumb over the fur between his eyes. “I think I might like you better than him.”

Henry attended to his needs faster than usual; the feeling of Thomasin’s warm, willing body in his arms was still fresh in his mind. He gathered up Thomasin’s things and brought them back to the tent. She was scratching Kal’s enormous stomach when he came in. She was smiling to herself as she pet him. “Some bear you are. I think you were meant to be a much smaller dog than you are.”

“Should I be worried that your affections will stray?” Henry asked teasingly. Thomasin rolled her eyes and demanded he help her put her dress back on.

It was a simple woolen garment Justina had made for her years ago. It didn’t fit very well to begin with, and this endless trek to London was slowly crushing its will to live.

First thing Henry would do when they reached London was commission a seamstress to make Thomasin new dresses. Especially something elegant for the wedding.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Thomasin asked.

Henry sighed. “I thought you were angry with me for killing you.” Even as he spoke, he was settling in beside her.

“I am.” Thomasin lay her head on his chest and snuggled up against him. “But I’m quite cold, and I doubt you’d give me Kal unless you were with him.”

“That’s true,” Henry said, putting one arm around Thomasin and the other behind his head. He sighed with contentment and shut his eyes.

He was hovering on the edge of sleep when Thomasin spoke. “Why did you tell me to _come_? Were we meant to go somewhere?”

Henry chuckled, opening his eyes to look at her. “No. It’s another term for reaching climax.” God, she was pretty. High cheekbones with little shadows beneath, full lips, dainty jaw, and alabaster skin. Even the small discoloration on her side was enchanting.

“Oh.” Thomasin frowned. “Well, that’s silly. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He lifted his head enough to peck the tip of her nose before stroking her soft cheek with the back of his fingers.

Thomasin grabbed his hand and twisted it to look at the signet ring on his little finger. “What’s this?” she asked, tracing the symbol’s outline with her fingernail.

“My family’s symbol. We’ve all got them – my brothers’ wives and our mother, too, though they wear the crest as a pendant around their necks.”

“Hmm.”

“Did your father give you any tokens like that?”

“No. We only ever wore the family colors, and only when someone important was visiting. Though I think my father wore them into battle.”

Henry frowned. “Your father was very protective of you, wasn’t he?”

“He used to tell me that men are meant to love their sons above their daughters, but he considered his little girls far more precious.” She smiled, bittersweet, and sniffed back the tears that threatened to fall. “I think it’s because we reminded him of Mother. He said we were his heart. We needed to be properly looked after.” 

Henry tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I’ll look after you now,” he murmured into her hair.

Fuck.

She wasn’t going to be able to leave him now, was she?

*

Thomasin slept like a log, which meant snoring and drooling all over Henry’s chest. He found it oddly soothing. He liked that he could hear her deep, even breathing. It lulled him to sleep the same way the sounds of rain or running water did. He didn’t notice when Kal slipped out in the middle of the night, and he was alarmed that the dog was not nearby. Kal was his living shadow.

As soon as Henry stepped out of the tent, that strange feeling from last night returned – like he was being watched or brushed with some invisible feather that made him itch. Something was making him physically uncomfortable, and he couldn’t blame it on overdrinking since the wine had worked its way out of his system by now. Something just felt off.

Maybe he’d just been on the road for too long and had reached the point where he really did need a bath. More likely it was Thomasin.

Kal came bounding over to escort Henry to the pond only to turn back and resume whatever it was he was doing before. A handful of soldiers were washing up at the pond; they’d already broken the thin layer of ice that covered the water’s surface.

He decided to give Thomasin some time to herself when he finished washing; she’d probably need space to process it all, and he feared going back to her would appear suspicious to the others. He walked back to the center of the camp and had his squire start putting on his armor while he listened to reports and planned the day’s route with Roger.

“Your brother’s coming, milord,” Jamie said softly. Roger was out of earshot now but he understood the need for discretion. “He doesn’t look too happy.”

Henry turned his head. Sure enough, Charlie was marching toward them. His gait was stiff, as it always was when he was trying to hold back his anger.“Fuck off, Jamie,” Charlie barked once he was close.

The squire finished strapping on Henry’s pauldron, bowed, and backed away.Henry raised his eyebrows at his brother. “What has you in such a foul mood?”

“You spoilt her.” Charlie was shaking with fury. “Your only task was –”

“ _Enough!_ ” Henry seethed. The veins in his neck bulged as he shoved his brother back so the men wouldn’t overhear them talking. “My affairs are none of your concern. I’d thank you to quit mothering me.”

“Clearly you need mothering!” Charlie half-whispered, half-shouted. “If you’re foolish enough to –”

“I would remind you that I am your older brother and your commander. You will show me the respect my position demands or you will leave. Go back to Simon.” He turned away to storm off. “I swear I’d rather have Jamie by my side than you.”

Charlie followed after him. “You disobeyed the king,” he said. “William could take your head for this if he wants to.”

“It’s _my_ head to lose, Charlie. If I want your help, I’ll ask for it. _Do. You. Understand_?” He broke up each wordto emphasize his point.

Charlie nodded reluctantly and let his eyes trail over Henry’s shoulder. Kal stood stark-still, staring into the trees. “What’s wrong with your bear?”

Henry turned to look at the dog, sighing. “I don’t know. He’s been like that all morning. I think there’s an animal in the woods.”

Charlie nodded. “Some of the men think so, too. The horses are restless. The hounds are irritable, too.”

“We’ll break camp. Get on the road as soon as we can.”

*

Thomasin was sore. She decided that actually making love to a man would be excruciating if a couple of fingers nearly made her hobble.

Even though the water was damn near frozen, it took several minutes for her to clear the fog from her mind. Henry was tired of waiting and finally stomped from the road where the horses were waiting back to the pond. Some of the men had already collapsed the tent and packed it away. The only real thing they were waiting on was her.

Henry clapped his hands twice to get her attention. “Your face is as clean as it will ever be. Come on.”

“Don’t rush me, Henry,” Thomasin said. “It’s very unbecoming.”

“Thomasin, we’re behind schedule as it is.”

“How is that my fault?”

“Because you tried to run away and twisted your ankle and we had to spend half the day looking for you. Or have you forgotten?” Henry only meant to tease her but she looked pensive.

Thomasin stood, wiping her palms on her faded bliaut. “I haven’t.” she lifted her skirts to walk through the snow more easily.

Henry walked at her side. “Are you sore?” he asked quietly. “Was I too rough?”

“Not at all.” She conjured up a small smile for him.

Henry smiled back but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What are you thinking about?” He didn’t need to ask; he already knew. “Your sister’s convent is relatively close.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Will you run away?” He didn’t sound concerned, only curious.

Thomasin tilted her head back to look up at him, her eyes slightly narrowed. “Do you expect me to?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said. “That’s why I’m asking.”

Thomasin heaved a great sigh and turned her eyes back to the path before her. “I suppose I can’t now. After what we did last night, I fear I’m stuck with you.” She gave a real smile this time; Henry grinned back.

“Who says I’ll have you?” he teased.

The last of the camp was being packed away. All around, men doused the fires they’d used to cook their morning meals, saddled horses, helped each other into their cumbersome armor. The hounds were anxiously milling about, weaving in and out of the horses and soldiers as if to check their progress.

Roger called out to her from his horse. She spoke to him for a few minutes until everyone was saddled and ready, including Henry.

“Come on.” He held his hand out to her. the same hand that had touched her.

Thomasin wasn’t paying attention to him. “Is something wrong with Kal?” The dog stood at the edge of the tree line, growling at shadows.

“He’ll follow once we get moving,” Henry replied.

Thomasin walked over to the dog. She hadn’t gone far but it was too much distance for Henry. He was anxious, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Kal,” Thomasin said. “Let’s go.” She knelt beside him and rubbed his chest to get his attention. It didn’t work. “Kal.”

“Thomasin, it’s time to go,” Henry called from his horse.

“What are you looking at?” Thomasin murmured to the dog. She followed his black-brown gaze into the woods, squinting her eyes to make out the shapes in the darkness.

The first thing she saw was the horse. A black beast that most would consider small for a man to ride, but Thomasin knew his master chose him because he was the swiftest creature in all of England.

She finally drew her eyes up to the horse’s rider. He was dressed in dark green and black, colors which camouflaged him in the shadows of the woods and spoke of his proud heritage as a warrior, the son of England’s greatest warrior. The horse’s reins were knotted behind its neck to keep them from waving about while the warrior rode. He couldn’t hold them; his hands were on his bow and arrow.

Hammond’s eyes were hard, his expression inscrutable as he locked eyes with his sister. He was here to free her. He was here to kill the men that held her prisoner.

He nudged his horse with his heel and disappeared back into the trees with a soft rustle.

“Thomasin.” Henry kept his eyes on the woods as he held out an arm to her. There was something sinister about the trees. He motioned with his fingers for her to come to him. 

She was paralyzed. She couldn’t see Hammond anymore but she could still feel him. And she knew, beyond all doubt, that he was preparing to kill Henry. 

He wasn’t alone – he was too smart for that. But he couldn’t have more than a dozen warriors with him for them all to hide in the forest. It would be a lightning attack – swift and deadly. She’d never witnessed one but she remembered hearing about them. There was one surprise strike and that was all – no prolonged battle, no chance for the enemy to get his bearings or draw his sword before the attackers disappeared again.

“Thomasin, now!” Henry shouted, his sapphire eyes still searching the trees. Still, she didn’t move. He finally tore his gaze from the forest to look at her. “ _Thomasin_!”

She rose slowly to her feet, breathing heavily as though she’d just run a great distance. She saw the concern on her captor’s face, the fear in his eyes, and her heart broke. 

Henry or Hammond. Henry or Hammond. 

She swallowed hard. “Henry –”

The Saxon warriors broke through the tree line with a battle cry. They all had their swords raised as they galloped toward the Norman camp, save for one Saxon. His long, wild hair – longer than was the fashion for even Normans, certainly longer than the Saxons wore it – swooped around his head like the glossy black wings of a bat. He rode his horse at full gallop but didn’t grip the reins. In his hands, he held a bow and arrow which he knocked, aimed, drew, and released without wavering in his seat.

“ _Is it true your father could shoot an arrow from horseback at a full gallop?_ ” Charlie had asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Thomasin had replied, a note of pride in her voice. “ _My brother can, too_.”

But Thomasin’s brother wasn’t aiming for Henry - or any of the other Normans, for that matter. He was aiming for his sister.

“Thomasin!” Henry shouted, just as the first arrow entered her body.


	7. Chapter 7

Thomasin’s knees gave out when the arrow pierced her flesh. The searing pain blinded her to what was going on around her. She’d all but forgotten her fear and the ambush – even her confusion over the fact that her own brother shot her. Henry was shouting for her, and all she could concentrate on was getting to him.

Henry dug his heels into his horse’s flank, forcing it into a gallop. If there was ever a time to be quick, it was now. He called Thomasin’s name again as he grew closer. He leaned forward as far as he could and opened his arm to grab her. 

She was struggling to her feet and she looked confused and tired and scared. His heart constricted in his chest in response but all rational thought was gone from his mind: battle always sharpened a man’s focus, allowed his instincts to take over and guide him, killed his fear and numbed him to pain. _Thomasin, Thomasin_ , chanted his mind.

Thomasin was lucid enough to reach out for Henry when he came close, raising both her arms toward him. The arrow had pierced her left arm but didn’t go all the way through, the fletching on one side of her arm and the arrowhead on the other. The shaft was still embedded in her flesh.

Henry slammed into her, knocking the air from her lungs as his strong arm collided with her waist. He was just pulling her into his lap when a second arrow pierced her left shoulder, dangerously close to her heart. She didn’t move or cry out.

He draped her over his lap so as not to disturb the arrow in her back and goaded his horse further, faster, blind to what was going on around him. He thought only to put as much space between him and the battle as possible.

There were other hoof beats behind him as riders followed him. He didn’t know if they were his allies or his enemies and he didn’t look to see. He couldn’t think about anything. He just knew he had to move.

The Cavills’ scout was suddenly beside him, assuring him that the battle was over and the attackers were gone as suddenly as they appeared. He pulled his horse to a stop; the creature stumbled but thankfully didn’t injure itself.

The soldiers formed a moving barrier around Henry and Thomasin as he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her away from the road. The squires rushed ahead into the edge of the tree line and started setting up a sort of nest.

“Put her down here. On her side.”

Henry set Thomasin down on the blankets laid out for her, careful to put her on her right side. The first arrow had pierced straight through her upper arm; the second had entered her shoulder. Henry couldn’t see where the point came out. Shit. that meant the arrowhead was still stuck inside her. They’d have to dig it out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Henry exhaled. He patted her cheek not-too-gently. There was no response. “Thomasin? Thomasin? Thomasin?” All he could say was her name. He pressed his fingers against the pulse-point on her throat and felt a heartbeat. Then, as if to punctuate the point that she was still alive, Thomasin uttered a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan. “Oh, thank God.” He forgot himself and bent down to press a strong kiss to Thomasin’s temple, knotting his fingers in her hair. Crimson blood smeared her rosy gold tresses.

“Lady Thomasin?” Roger’s voice was unnecessarily loud as he bent down toward her, as if he were talking to an old person. “Can you hear me?”

Thomasin hissed something that no one could quite make out; Henry still smiled over her aggressive tone. She must be all right if she could argue. Her wounds had probably gone numb; that’s why she wasn’t screaming or crying.

“We need to get the arrows out,” Charlie said.

“We can’t get the one out of her shoulder without a healer,” Roger said, shaking his head. Arrows were designed to snag and tear tissue when they were pulled out; removing an arrow was often more painful and dangerous than being shot with one in the first place.

Roger called out to his men to see if there was anyone among them who had experience treating such wounds; there were a handful of soldiers who could help, though none were skilled enough to remove the one in her shoulder.

Roger’s second, a silver-haired young man called Godfrey, was the most experienced in treating battlefield wounds. He knelt beside Henry and reached to examine Thomasin’s arm. Henry’s muscles tensed. In his clouded mind, the danger was not yet gone. Godfrey may very well hurt Thomasin rather than help her.

Kal was particularly sensitive to his master’s thoughts and feelings when he was upset like this. The dog shoved his head against Henry’s arm to calm him and keep him from lashing out.

Godfrey’s enviably thick, dark hair had gone grey in his early twenties because of his genetics, but the current look on his face suggested prolonged stress might be at fault. “The wound in her arm shouldn’t be much of a problem,” he said. “It’s the one in her shoulder. I can’t pull it out without injuring her further. The only solution I can think of would be to push the tip of the arrow through her skin, snap off –”

“No!” Henry growled. “You could very well pierce her heart. We need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Crispin murmured a suggestion.

“Speak up, boy!” Charlie said.

“Her sister’s convent,” Crispin repeated. “Some of the nuns there tend to the sick and wounded. They’d know how to help her.”

“How far is it?” asked Roger.

“A day’s ride,” Charlie answered. “Maybe less.”

“She’s in no condition to ride,” Godfrey said, shaking his head.

“Then bring them!” Henry bit out. He fought back the panic rising in his chest to say something that made sense. “Fetch them. The nuns. Fetch them and bring them here. To attend her. Fetch them. _Now_!”

*

Thomasin would’ve screamed if she could, but Henry’s arm collided with her just as she opened her mouth to cry out. Another pain came just as he hoisted her onto his horse but she couldn’t pull enough air into lungs to scream or even to breathe.

She had the strangest urge. She wanted Henry to hold her and tell her that she was beautiful and it was all right. After what they did last night –

God was punishing her, wasn’t He? She’d broken her promise, the one she made the day her father died.

“I need fresh linens and boiled water,” Godfrey said, tearing a larger hole around the wound in Thomasin’s arm. “Maybe a hot knife to close the wound.”

The men hurried to obey. Henry wasn’t aware that he was petting Thomasin’s hair back – something only a family member or nursemaid might do. “What will you do?” he asked.

“First I need my armor off. I can’t move in this.” Godfrey clicked at Jamie, who quickly removed everything but Godfrey’s hauberk. He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his neck back and forth to stretch out. “Roger, Jarin, I need you on Thomasin’s other side. Henry, you’ll stay here. I’ll need you to hold her down.” He was in too much of a hurry to use honorifics.

“Will she live?” Jamie asked quietly. Henry wanted to wring his neck for asking such a thing. Of course she would survive. And if she wasn’t going to survive, then he didn’t want to know.

Godfrey shook his head. “I can’t say. Break off the fletching, Baron,” he said to Roger once the supplies were all prepared. “Be careful not to disturb the arm.”

Roger quickly made the sign of the cross. He held the arrow’s shaft steady so Thomasin wouldn’t feel him break off the fletching; thankfully, she didn’t seem aware of what was going on. Roger held the arrow fragment in his hand and studied the fletching. The feathers were a dark green color with black veins running through them. Green and black - Thomasin’s family colors.

“Hold onto her,” Godfrey said. Henry and the other knight – Jarin? – tightened their grips on her shoulder and arm. Roger had barely put his hands back on Thomasin’s arm when he yanked the arrow from her flesh in one smooth motion.

Thomasin cried out in agony, kicking and thrashing. Henry wanted to be gentle with her, but he had to use all his strength to keep her still. Godfrey used a hot rag to bind the wounds; Thomasin screeched again and writhed so violently that she managed to move – she rolled partially onto her back, pushing the arrow further into her shoulder.

Thomasin lost consciousness.

Henry sat back on his heels and ran a trembling hand over his face. He felt nauseous and weak. He had the horrible feeling of drowning that occurred when he was especially upset.

“Go outside,” Roger said. “Take a breath.” Henry opened his mouth to object; Roger held up his hand to cut him off. “I promise I won’t let her die until you’ve gotten a drink of water.”

*

The Saxons left eight casualties, not including Thomasin. Six knights were dead, another two injured, though not as badly as Thomasin, plus three horses and one hound.

The Saxons themselves had no dead men, at least not that they left behind. If they’d lost anyone, they took their bodies to bury elsewhere.

Henry’s men were having trouble breaking the frosted ground to dig graves but they were determined to lay their friends to rest. Maybe Charlie and the others would bring back a priest to give them proper Christian burials. Or perhaps the nuns could pray over the graves. Something. They couldn’t simply be forgotten.

There were triple the usual number of guards at the perimeter of the makeshift camp, which was half the size of their normal ones.

Henry removed his armor and splashed some water on his face. Men were still going back and forth to wherever the water source was to refill them. A thin crust of ice formed at the surface of each one

“We’re too exposed like this,” Henry said to himself. “Fucking Hammond.”

“Do you think that’s what he wanted when he shot her? Thomasin’s brother, I mean,” Godfrey said. Henry raised an eyebrow in reply. “He knew we’d have to stop traveling to tend to her. Make ourselves vulnerable.”

Henry jabbed his fingers to the spot between his eyebrows and started rubbing furiously at his growing headache.

If that were true, then Hammond really was the best warrior in England.

It was the cleverest plan he’d ever heard. And the cruelest. Was he truly willing to let his sister die in exchange for a victory over the Normans? Or was it just part of his plan – injure his sister to distract the enemy then scoop her up and bring her back with him?

*

Thomasin dreamt of her father.

She hated the memories that played behind her closed eyes. She wanted to see her father when he was young and strong and happy and full of life, as he was during her childhood. But instead she was forced to rewatch him, weak and defeated, slip away.

“You must promise me you’ll never give up the castle,” he said as he lay on his deathbed. Thomasin sat beside him, dabbing his brow with a rag. He kept swatting her hand away. Even now, he didn’t like to be coddled. “You must burn it before you let them have it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Hammond will fight to the death,” the baron continued. “His fate is already sealed. But you, sweet Tom – you must stay alive. Go to Stephanie at the convent, go to Justina in Scotland, swear fealty to the Normans or marry one if you must. Just stay alive.” He started hacking again; his choking cough was painful to listen to. There was some blood on the corner of his mouth. Thomasin reached for a damp cloth to wipe it away. Randel waved her away and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. He started speaking as soon as he could breathe again. “I told your mother that you and your sisters would live long lives. I fear that if you make me a liar, she’ll withdraw her love and I shall be in heaven alone.”

Thomasin managed to speak around the lump in her throat. “Mama would never.”

“Oh, but she would. You didn’t know her well but your mother was strong and outspoken – and vengeful, if need be. I have every confidence she’d find a way to torture me in the other world.” Randel smiled. “You’ve always reminded me of her the most. You don’t look a thing like her, but damn if you aren’t just the same.

He sniffed back his tears. “Right. Off with you. I won’t have your last memory of me be my death.”

Thomasin shook her head. “Papa, I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I won’t be.” He grasped Thomasin’s hand. “Your mother is here, just beside me. Can’t you feel her? she’ll show me the way home.”

He died some two hours later.

Thomasin screamed so loudly that she was sure the walls around her would crumble.

This was _their_ fault. The Normans. They took her country and subjugated her people and now they’d killed the finest man ever to live, killed him long before his time. When her mother died and her sisters moved away and Hammond stopped loving her, Thomasin’s father was all she had. Now she had nothing.

 _Swear fealty to the Normans. Marry one if you must_.

No. She would never pledge her loyalty or life to one of the men who stole her world away – first her country and then her father. They were all at fault because they had all followed William across the English Channel to help him take what wasn’t his and kill everyone who got in his way.

She vowed she would never forgive them. Any of them. She would harden her heart against each and every one of them.

And she would never forget. 


	8. Chapter 8

Most of the men were reluctant to remove their armor; they all expected a second attack. A handful of them took it off because they could run from the attack faster without it. They used their plates to line the small tent they’d erected around Thomasin. Henry tucked her up in their unused hauberks as though they were blankets.The weight of the chainmail seemed to calm her the same way Kal’s weight calmed Henry.

Thomasin muttered things in her sleep, often addressed at Henry. Mostly, she complained that her shoulder hurt or she was cold or thirsty. Sometimes she made sounds like she was crying.

It was the middle of the night. Thomasin had been in and out all day. She was practically rabid when she was awake. Like a trapped, injured animal, she lashed out – sometimes physically.

With the grace of God, Charlie and the others would be back by noon. Henry was certain that she was out of danger for the moment, but the longer she went without medical attention.

Henry lay beside Thomasin, still fully armored. No one questioned why he was in her tent: Someone should be nearby in case she rolled over on her back or asked for something – or if she died. And everyone knew that Thomasin belonged to Henry.

They’d known it practically since he lifted her from the hidden room in the church but now it was official. A handful of the men saw Henry gathering up Thomasin’s clothes from beside the pond, and the way he kissed her after she was wounded might as well have been a wedding ceremony.

“Henry?” Thomasin croaked. She tried to blink her eyes open but her lids were too heavy; they kept falling shut.

Henry smoothed her hair back on her head. It was damp with sweat despite the chill. A sign of illness. “What is it?” he murmured, leaning in closer.

“This is entirely your fault.” She was too strained to use her usual teasing tone of voice.

Henry’s lips curled into a smile as he breathed a laugh. “I apologize. Will you forgive me?”

“No,” she managed, voice rough like pebbles on a beach.

Henry smiled again and went back to stroking her hair.

“Henry?” she said again.

He thought she’d fallen back asleep. “Yes?”

“I think you ought to kiss me while you have the chance. May not be for long.”

“You’re not going to die, Thomasin. I forbid you, remember?”

“I meant before I change my mind, not before I die.” She sighed and settled back in. “Don’t kiss me. I changed my mind.”

*

Charlie and the others reached the convent just before dawn. It was still dark outside, but firelight from within the convent and the torches mounted on its outer walls provided enough light for the Normans to see what was going on.

There were people standing outside – around a dozen nuns plus a handful of men on horseback. The men were unloading heavy sacks from their horses and piling them in a cart, which the nuns prayed over. The Normans slowed their pace as they approached.

Crispin was the first to figure out what was going on. “Are those corpses?”

“Saxons,” another warrior murmured at the same time.

It was Hammond.

_That son of a whore._

The Normans’ steel swords scraped against their scabbards as they unsheathed them, preparing themselves for another skirmish.

“Put your weapons away,” Charlie told his men. “This is a place of God.” It was an insult to God and a sin against Him to offer violence in a sacred place like this. Charlie had trouble removing his own fist from around the pommel of his sword. He was furious that Hammond was here and he couldn’t attack him, and even more furious that he was impressed by Hammond’s plan.

Hammond _knew_ the Normans would come to the nunnery to fetch help for Thomasin, so he got there first, left his dead with the sisters to be buried in the churchyard, and now planned to ride away unmolested. Charlie could follow him of course, but that would mean wasting time bringing Thomasin the help she needed. And he couldn’t very well divide his men in half and have one part go after the Saxons, since those barbarians would certainly kill them.

That brilliant bloody bastard.

Thankfully Hammond wasn’t gloating. He was deep on conversation with a particularly agitated nun. She had her fingers knotted in his horse’s mane as they spoke to prevent him from riding off before she was done hissing at him. The horse grew irritated with her and bit her habit; the nun smacked it away indignantly.

“I’d bet my arm that’s Lady Thomasin’s sister,” one of the Normans said.

Hammond had the decency not to smile or wink at the Normans as he and his men rode north away from the convent. He didn’t even glance in their direction. He wanted them to know they didn’t matter enough for him to turn his head. That slick little sack of –

The nun he was speaking with suddenly appeared before Charlie, her hands on her hips and her nostrils flared. “Where is my sister?” Her words dripped with fury as saliva dripped from a dog’s mouth. Charlie could see the loathing in her eyes despite the dim light.

One of the soldiers behind him leaned over and murmured to his friend, “I guess you’ll be keeping your arm.”

*

Thomasin hissed in pain as Godfrey examined the wound in her back. She still lay on her right side. She kept trying to look over her shoulder at what Godfrey was doing; Henry had to put his hand on her cheek and turn her face forward like he was dealing with a child. She was ready to kill him.

Henry didn’t notice. He was watching Godfrey’s face. He didn’t look happy, but Henry wouldn’t ask why in front of Thomasin.

She wasn’t doing well. Her skin was hot and dry from a rising fever. She couldn’t get comfortable.

The wound was infected. Not too badly – not yet – but it was starting to ooze translucent fluids. Godfrey would ordinarily be able to treat such an infection with relative ease, but first he had to remove the arrow.

It was then that they heard the shouting.

Jamie stuck his head through the tent flaps. “They’re here!”

“I’ll be right back,” Henry promised Thomasin; she groaned in reply. Henry and Godfrey exited the tent as Charlie and the others rode into camp.

There were three nuns. One of them grabbed her habit and tossed it aside as she slid down from her horse. One wore no habit at all. Their appearance was jarring – their heads were shaved close to their scalps. Everyone knew nuns cut their hair but the men had never seen it before. Men didn’t even cut their hair so short.

The nuns would be difficult to tell apart, as the two without their habits appeared to have light hair, though not much of it, but one was several inches taller than her counterpart. The tall one rushed straight to the tent without acknowledging anyone, including Roger, who was in the middle of bowing to her

“That’s Stephanie, Thomasin’s sister,” Charlie explained quietly.

The one still in her habit was around the same age as Henry’s mother, and the young one was only a year or two older than Jamie and Crispin. She looked entirely out of her depth at first but grew more confident each moment. She was clearly shadowing the others, training to be a healer like them.

The young one stumbled into a curtsey and ran after Stephanie into the tent. The older one took the time to curtsey properly. “I’m Sister Aldith from St. Andrea’s Convent.”

“Thank you for coming,” Roger said.

“Of course. Would someone help me with my items?” she asked, gesturing at the satchel attached to her horse’s saddle.

“Gladly,” Godfrey said. He grabbed the items and let Sister Aldith to the tent.

Henry went to follow them, but Charlie stopped him. “I have to talk with you. You, too, Roger.”

“Is something wrong?” Roger asked.

Charlie sighed heavily. “Hammond was at the convent.”

“ _What_?” Henry spat.

“You are joking,” Roger said at the same time.

Charlie shook his head. “He was speaking to Sister Stephanie when we arrived.”

Henry managed to piece a question together. “Will he attack again?”

“Stephanie doesn’t think so.”

“Did he explain why he shot his sister?” Henry said through his teeth.

“I don’t know; I didn’t ask.”

“Which way did they go when they left?” asked Roger.

“North. They left just as we arrived; we couldn’t attack them on church ground.” Charlie frowned and shook his head. “Brilliant.” It was. Hammond had timed it so that Charlie and his men count either follow them or fetch help for Thomasin – but not both.

Henry clenched his jaw; the vein in the center of his forehead throbbed.

*

“Thomasin!”

Stephanie tore through the opening in the tent and knelt beside her sister. Poor Thomasin’s lips were pale and cracked from dehydration, a sheen of sweat covering her face that plastered her baby hairs to her forehead. She gently brushed them back. “Thomasin, wake up, love.”

“Stop yelling. I want to sleep.”

“Tom.” She patted her sister’s cheek. “ _Thomasin_.”

Thomasin opened her eyes. The face above her was vaguely familiar though it looked strange without rose gold tresses framing it.

“Stop it, Steffie.” 

It was a good sign that Thomasin recognized her sister, but it was concerning that she wasn’t surprised to see her – it meant that she wasn’t aware of her surroundings. A

Thomasin tried to roll onto her back. Stephanie reflexively grabbed her arm to hold her still, accidentally putting pressure on the wound in her sister’s arm. Thomasin shrieked like a banshee and attempted to lunge at her attacker.

Godfrey and the young nun, who were lingering awkwardly by entrance, leapt forward just in time to keep Thomasin from clawing her sister’s eyes out.

Henry rushed into the tent when he heard Thomasin’s screams. Between Thomasin, three nuns, and now two large warriors, the space was filled almost to capacity, and Henry nearly knocked the structure down in his hurry to get to Thomasin. “What’s happened?”

“I injured her accidentally. She was going to roll onto her back.” Stephanie’s face contorted in the strangest way.

“Are you all right, Sister?” Godfrey asked.

Stephanie took a deep breath. “I’m trying very hard not to blaspheme or to wish ill on another of God’s children.”

“We should begin,” Sister Aldith said. She instructed the young one to finish preparing her supplies. “I’ll need someone to hold down her head and shoulder and at least two more to hold her legs.”

“Will you push the arrow through to remove it?” Henry asked, putting his hand on Thomasin’s shoulder.

“I have to see where it is first,” the nun replied. “It all depends on the angle. I’ll have to cut into her to see where it is. Boil some water for me,” she said to no one in particular. “And have my needles ready.”

“Cut into her?” Roger said. He stood just outside the tent with a handful of other soldiers, waiting to see if there was anything they could do.

“Yes.”

Stephanie got halfway through a profane statement before she caught herself. Thomasin’s foul temper seemed to run in the family; not even her nun sister was spared it.

“Make sure you’ve got a hold of her,” Sister Aldith said. She looked first to Godfrey, who held Thomasin’s legs, and then to Henry.

“Yes,” he said.

Thomasin wasn’t lucid enough to understand what was about to happen. Stephanie prayed to God that she would swoon the moment the knife touched her skin so she wouldn’t feel the agony that was sure to come. She kissed her sister’s forehead and took her place beside Aldith. “I’m ready to assist you, Sister.”

Everyone crossed themselves, including the men outside.

Sister Aldith took a deep breath and picked up her instrument: a smooth, sharp blade to make the first incision. “ _Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. . .”_

Henry and the others took up the prayer as the sister lined up her blade parallel beside Thomasin’s collarbone. 

“ _Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas_ -”

Thomasin’s shrill cry of pain was loud enough to frighten birds out of the trees nearby. Henry tried his best to hold her steady, murmuring little comforts in her ear, but they had to call in two other soldiers to keep the poor girl still.

*

She finally lost consciousness, though it took nearly twenty minutes. She remained unconscious for the rest of the procedure. It took nearly three hours.

Aldith found the arrowhead but it was at a bad angle. She adjusted it as best as she could with a pair of small tongs before instructing Godfrey to press down as he pushed the arrow through. He had to go slowly, but the arrow eventually came through the cut that Aldith had already made instead of tearing Thomasin’s skin again.

Henry and the other soldiers were finally released from their duties so the nuns could tend to her wounds properly without worrying about protecting Thomasin’s modesty, but Henry returned as soon as he was allowed.

“How is she?” he asked quietly, lingering by the opening.

Stephanie took a deep breath. “Sleeping, thank God.” Stephanie’s habit was back on. No longer distracted by her hair, Henry could take a proper look at her face. She had thinner lips and brighter eyes than her sister. Her features, though similar to her sister’s, were harsher than Thomasin’s, too. She was certainly lovely, but in Henry’s opinion she didn’t hold a candle to Thomasin. “She was talking about you.”

“She was?”

“She said this was entirely your fault,” Stephanie said matter-of-factly.

Henry smiled slightly. “At least she’s feeling better.”

“She was betrothed, you know. Before all this,” Stephanie said. “I don’t think my father ever actually intended to marry her off, though. He made me and Justina wait to marry until we were practically spinsters, but I swear he would’ve kept Thomasin until she was thirty.”

“I believe it.”

“Are you going to marry her?”

Henry wasn’t shocked by Stephanie’s forthrightness; he was used to women speaking freely – even rudely – to him now that he’d spent ten days with Thomasin. “I’d like to, yes.”

Stephanie nodded. “And if she doesn’t want you?”

That did surprise Henry. “I don’t follow.”

“If she didn’t want to marry you, or marry at all, would you still bring her to London?”

Henry knit his brows in confusion. “What else would I do?”

“You could let me bring her back to the convent with me.” Stephanie’s tone was gentle, imploring.

It took Henry a long time to piece together a response. “I can’t disobey my king.”

“Even for Thomasin’s sake?”

Henry labored over that statement for most of the night. He knew he would let Thomasin go if she wanted to leave. The problem was that he couldn’t bear to say goodbye.

He crept into Thomasin’s tent just before dawn. She and Stephanie were both fast asleep. Henry would’ve been happy to watch her rest – and listen to her snore – for hours on end, but he had to wake her.

“Thomasin?” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face.

“Oh, let me sleep,” she croaked.

“I will, little one. I want to talk to you first.”

She kept her eyes shut. “Don’t call me that. I’m not _little_.”

Stephanie rolled onto her left side in her sleep, facing away from them, as if she were giving the couple privacy.

“Forgive me,” Henry teased.

“No.” Thomasin kept her eyes closed. “What is it?”

“I’m going.”

Thomasin’s eyes opened. She was suddenly wide awake. “Where?”

“To London. We’re already late to arrive. I’ll ride ahead and explain to the king what’s happened.”

“You can’t wait for me for another day or two?”

“Charlie and Roger will look after you,” he said quietly. Thomasin frowned. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

Henry removed his signet ring and set it in her palm. “Do not lose this. I’ll want it back.”

Thomasin looked upset. “Why are you giving me this?”

“Something to remember me by.” He forced a smile. “We’ve only known each other for ten days, after all.”

“It’s been terribly eventful, hasn’t it?”

“Too eventful.” Henry took a deep breath. “I love you, Tom. You know that, don’t you?”

Thomasin couldn’t find her voice. She could only nod.

Henry smiled softly, his mouth closed. Thomasin was disappointed; she wanted a real grin from him, his uncommonly sharp teeth on display.

Henry swallowed hard. “I love you,” he said again. It was all he could think to say. He kissed her forehead and left.

Thomasin couldn’t fall back asleep. She gripped Henry’s ring so hard that it left an imprint of his family crest on her palm.


	9. Chapter 9

“We’ve finally run out of wine,” Roger said mournfully. “I knew sooner or later this moment would come but now that it’s here, I must say I’m grieved for this loss.”

Charlie smiled but didn’t open his eyes. “Shut your eyes. You can dream about all the wine we’ll have in London. They’re all doing it.”

He referred to the sleeping men all around them. They were sprawled out in strange positions even though they were all packed together in two or three large clumps to keep warm. After the events of the last few days – and specifically yesterday afternoon – they were too tired to care if Hammond and the Saxons came back and killed them.

The nuns’ presence was somehow reassuring, too. Surely no one in their right mind would attack a bride of the Church, but that wasn’t the only reason they were relaxed. Sister Aldith and the young nun – she called herself a postulant – had gone around tending to the men’s wounds regardless of how small they were. Sister Aldith was quite maternal, and the men all subconsciously decided that there was nothing to fear with their mother watching over them.

“I wonder if we’ll ever make it to London,” Roger said ruefully. The sky had just begun to lighten; dawn was only an hour or so away and he dreaded the thought of facing another long day.

“We will,” said Charlie. “I will get back to London and have a large drink and a hot bath if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Is that Henry coming out of Lady Thomasin’s tent?”

Charlie cracked his eyes open. Henry was walking toward them and Charlie could already tell he was in a mood.

Henry carefully picked his way through the labyrinth of bodies to reach his brother and friend. Kal, too large and awkward to wade into the crowd, patrolled the perimeter of sleeping men to ensure all were accounted for and sleeping soundly.

“Good morning,” Roger said brightly.

“It’s not morning,” Charlie said pointedly, shutting his eyes again.

“He’s right,” Henry agreed. “There’s no reason for you to be cheery at this ungodly hour, Roger.”

“I’m always cheery.”

“What were you doing in Lady Thomasin’s tent?” Charlie asked.

“Just wanted to be sure all was well.”

“And is it?” asked Roger.

“It was until I woke her,” Henry replied. “I’m going to ride ahead to London. I’ll be there in two days if I only take a handful of men with me.”

“In a hurry?” Roger asked.

“It’s a good idea,” Charlie said. “King William will be wondering where we are. The last thing we need is for him to send someone to fetch us.” And the sooner Henry was in London, the sooner he could ask for her hand, the sooner Charlie’s weeks-long headache over Henry’s shameless pining would be over. “By my reckoning, it will take us four or so more days to get there depending on how long we have to wait for Thomasin to heal enough to ride.”

“And how long it will take to escort the nuns back to their convent,” Roger added.

Henry took a deep breath through his nose. The last thing he wanted to think about was that convent. He had no doubt Thomasin could get away from Charlie and Roger if she wanted to – she need only make up some excuse to set foot on church grounds and she would be granted sanctuary. He just didn’t want to picture it.

“Yes,” he said.

“Are you leaving now?”

“Yes. The sooner the better.”

“All right, then,” said Roger. “We’ll see you in a few days.”

Henry grunted in reply. Then, a moment later, “Make sure she doesn’t get shot again.”

*

“What are you thinking about?” Stephanie asked.

She woke only a few minutes after Henry left. She’d slept late by the convent’s standards; she would ordinarily be more than halfway through mass in the chapel by now. Instead she was working to mend Thomasin’s gown. It was beyond saving at this point, but it had to hold up until she reached London.

Thomasin lay half on her back and half on her side. She sighed through her nose. “Henry. He called me Tom.”

“That’s awfully familiar of him.”

“I hate being called Tom. It’s a man’s name,” Thomasin continued, ignoring her sister’s statement. “You and Justina are the only ones who call me that and only because you know I hate it.”

Stephanie shrugged.

“He wants to marry me.”

“I know,” Stephanie said.

“What?” Thomasin pushed herself into a sitting position. The pain of exerting her injured arm and shoulder nearly knocked her back down, but she forced herself to stay upright. “How do you know?”

“He told me so,” Stephanie said simply.

Thomasin’s eyes and nostrils widened in rage. “When was this?”

“While you were asleep.”

“And what – he casually mentioned that he’d like to shackle himself to me for the rest of his life?”

Stephanie shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I asked him.” She didn’t look up from her sewing.

“Why in God’s name –”

“You mustn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Tom.”

“Don’t call me Tom!” the younger girl shouted. “What possible reason could you have for asking him if –”

“I haven’t seen you in four years.” Stephanie’s eyes flickered up to Thomasin’s. “Our father is dead now. There’s no one left to look after you. I wanted to know what’s to become of my little sister.” Thomasin averted her eyes so Stephanie wouldn’t see the tears gathering in them. “Will you marry him?”

“Yes, if the king allows it,” Thomasin said. “I’m sure he will.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

Thomasin pulled her eyebrows together. “Are you saying I ought to take my chances with a stranger?”

“No,” Stephanie said. “I’m saying you don’t have to marry at all.”

*

Henry rode halfway through the night, and when he did stop, it was more for the horses’ sake than his or his men’s. The faster they get to London, the better, to his way of thinking.

He’d grown used to sleeping near Thomasin. Even on the nights when Henry wasn’t in the tent with her, he was always nearby. He worried she would attempt to escape again and somehow hurt herself – or, more likely, one of the men.

Once, he even slept directly outside of the tent; he could’ve reached out and touched her were it not for the sheet of fabric separating them.

Kal took the liberty of snuggling up tight against his master. He fixed his brown eyes on Henry and exhaled through his nose as though he were sighing.

Henry sighed back. “I miss her, too,” he murmured.

They only slept for a few hours; once dawn broke, the men were mounted and riding again. They reached London by nightfall.

Henry went straight from the stables to the throne room without stopping to remove his armor. He instead removed it as he walked, letting the pieces fall to the ground. Jamie, ever the dutiful squire, did his best to catch them all.

During his conquest, William the Bastard had saved the capital, England’s greatest prize, for last. 

He invaded in December after first laying siege to the surrounding area to weaken the people’s spirits and make them more pliable to his intentions. He lay waste to the surrounding countryside, cutting off all supply routes to the city, then intentionally left the people to stew for weeks before finally attacking and capturing the city.

It was about a month since Henry had left this castle to return Lady Thomasin at the king’s behest.

Henry had only been to William’s castle once before, but he had the palace’s layout nearly memorized. He did not need to be escorted to the throne room, but a servant led him through the halls anyway for the sake of formality.

He passed a handful of acquaintances and friends but did not stop to speak with them. He was about the king’s business and could not be delayed.

The heavy wooden doors to the throne room opened and the servant fell into a theatrical bow. “Your grace, Baron Cavill’s fourth son, Henry, is here to see you”

“Ah, Henry!” the king called from his seat on the throne. “Do come in.”

William the Conqueror was nearly forty years of age. He was remarkably strong and clever, and no one in the world could rival his skill as a horseman or swordsman; he was growing steadily rounder with age, though, and his brown hair was dappled with grey.

Henry knelt before the raised dais the throne sat upon and put his hand over his heart. “Your grace.”

“Stand,” William said with a smile. He returned to his throne and took a seat. “Henry, I cannot help but notice that you arrived with two dozen knights and no Saxon woman. Has she escaped you?”

 _Not yet_.

“No, Sire. Our party was set upon by a band of Saxon rebels while we were on the road. Lady Thomasin was injured in the fray.”

“Injured how?”

Henry took a deep breath. William would likely blame him for her injuries, since he was the one tasked with protecting her. “Lady Thomasin was struck twice with arrows. One went through the top of her arm, just here –” he pointed to a spot on his arm “ – and the other struck her in the left shoulder from behind. We don’t know if the arrow was meant to kill her or not.”

“Saxons did this?” William asked, brows furrowed. “Didn’t they know she was one of their own?”

Henry cleared his throat. “Her brother is the one who shot her. He’s the finest archer I’ve ever seen; shooting Lady Thomasin was no accident.”

William’s eyes widened in disbelief. “He shot his own sister?”

Henry’s throat tightened. “Yes.”

William shook his head the slightest bit. “ _Saxons_.” They were wild as pagans, this lot, and apparently sororicidal. William wouldn’t say such things about his new subjects of course, but the thought was in his mind as it was in every other Norman’s. “Continue.”

“The arrowhead was trapped within the flesh; we could not remove it. We had to summon healers from an abbey. They had to cut into her shoulder from the front to find the arrowhead and dig it out.”

The king winced in sympathy. “Poor woman. Will she live?”

“Yes. She’s well enough to shout at me, but I want her to recover more before traveling.”

William nodded. “I think that’s wise. I must say I am surprised that you came here to tell me instead of sending a messenger.”

“Lady Thomasin is my responsibility. I thought it only proper to tell you myself.” He took a deep breath to summon his courage. “And I wish to speak to you about another matter concerning the lady.”

William motioned for Henry to stop speaking. “Tomorrow, perhaps, or the day after, after you tell me the rest of your tale. Tonight you will eat and rest. And bathe,” he added with a grin. “I fear the ladies at court will swoon if they smell you too closely.”

Henry smiled to himself remembering what happened the last time he attempted to bathe. “Thank you, your grace.”

Henry thought to bathe before sleeping, but after weeks of travel to and from Thomasin’s home, the bed was too warm and inviting to refuse. Kal had already claimed the side closer to the door in case he needed to protect Henry from intruders.

Henry removed the last of his traveling clothes before he flopped down on his stomach beside the snoring beast. He was so tired, he almost didn’t get under the covers.

He fantasized about how he and Thomasin would keep each other warm – how they’d work themselves into a sweat. Her plush lips and agile tongue sucking and licking while his hands were knotted in her thick hair. And later her plush thighs spread wide to cradle his hips, her pink passage wet and waiting to welcome him home.

He imagined her draped over his chest like a heavy blanket. He’d still be sheathed within her, of course, both to increase their chances of conception and because it was warm and comfortable. She’d press her ear to his chest to listen to his heartbeat while he stroked her hair to soothe her. Maybe she’d fall asleep in the middle of arguing with him over some small thing.

He smiled in his sleep.

He did not wake until after noon the next day.

*

The travelers took a short break to water the horses before resuming the journey to the abbey. Charlie thought it was best for everyone to travel together rather than send the nuns off with only a handful of guards to escort them back to the convent. Thomasin had asked to ride with her sister, but he denied her request. She asked for a horse of her own; he denied her again, instead commanding her to ride with him. “For your comfort,” he explained. The same words Henry had spoken to her on the night he stole her away. She didn’t like hearing them again. She felt like she was being imprisoned all over again.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Stephanie murmured to her sister as they attended to personal matters in the woods.

“I’m not changing my mind,” Thomasin replied firmly. “Besides, Henry’s brother practically has me in chains. He expects me to attempt some sort of escape.” She’d done it before, after all.

“The bride must consent to be married,” Stephanie said. “You could say no.”

Thomasin rolled her eyes.

“You could! And if these Normans are as chivalrous as you say, they won’t –”

“Enough!” Thomasin groaned. She lifted her threadbare skirts and started walking back toward the horses. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore.” The more Stephanie pressed her, the less sure she was of her choice.

She could not survive in a nunnery, she reminded herself. It was smarter to take her chances with Henry, who found her temper amusing, than to be broken like a horse.

That had always been her fear: having to change who she was down to her very core. Because if she changed, she would no longer be herself. And if she did not consent to change, to bend to another’s will, she’d certainly be broken.

“I care for Henry,” Thomasin continued. “And he loves me.” She tightened her grip on the signet ring he gave her. It gave her comfort somehow.

Stephanie huffed. “But do _you_ love _him_?”

*

A hot bath, clean shave, good meal, and deathlike slumber revived Henry. He was dressed in clean clothes of a rich blue color that resembled his eyes. He was always charming and well-tempered, but tonight he seemed almost to glow with charisma.

Even dear Queen Matilda, William’s beloved wife, commented on his fine mood when he stopped to greet her when he entered the hall. “How fine you look, Henry,” she said with a wide smile.

“Thank you, madam,” he said, bowing. He flashed her a grin that exposed his fanglike canines. “Strong wine and a soft bed are the best remedies to anything, in my opinion.”

“The wine especially.”

Matilda was short and generously proportioned. Her husband stood some twelve inches above her, and he had to bend down to hear her whenever she whispered to him. She was friendly and kind and William doted on her – he even showed her affection in public. Theirs was a love match.

*

Henry waited until after supper when all the ladies and children had left the hall to relay his tale to the various knights and barons of William’s court. He’d have to tell it a dozen more times, he imagined, but most of the women, children, and servants at court could hear it from their men.

He left out the parts about being present in her chamber while she dressed and touching her, but he spared no detail when describing her appearance and repeating the things she said. Some of the noblemen present grimaced or remarked that they’d never allow a woman to disrespect them, especially a Saxon woman, but most chuckled good-naturedly.

Henry was thoroughly pleased with everyone’s reactions. He was proud of his woman. He slept well, looking forward to his conversation tomorrow with the king, blissfully unaware of what was to come.


End file.
